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SONYA KOVALEVSKY

CONYA KOVALEVSKY

A BIOGRAPHY BY /ANNA CARLOTTA
LEFFLER DUCHESS OF CAJANELLO

AND SISTERS RAJEVSKY
BEING AN ACCOUNT OF HER
LIFE BY SONYA KOVALEVSKY

TRANSLATED BY A. DE FURUHJELM
AND A. M. CLIVE BAYLEY. WITH A
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE BY LILY WOLFFSOHN

ILLUSTRATED

LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1895

AUTHORIZED EDITION

All rights reserved.

CONTENTS.

CHAP. PAGE

i. GIRLHOOD'S DREAMS. NIHILISTIC MARRIAGE . i

II. IN THE UNIVERSITY 14

III. STUDIES UNDER WEIERSTRASS. VISITS TO PARIS

DURING THE COMMUNE .... 22

IV. LIFE IN RUSSIA 35

V. ADVENTURES. BEREAVEMENT .... 45

VI. FIRST CALL TO SWEDEN .... 5©
VII. ARRIVAL IN STOCKHOLM. FIRST IMPRESSIONS . 55

VIII. PASTIMES JO

IX. CHANGING MOODS ...... 82

X. HOW IT WAS, AND HOW IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN 93

XI. DISAPPOINTMENTS AND SORROW . . . IIO

v

vi CONTENTS.

CHAP. fAGE

XII. TRIUMPH AND DEFEAT ALL WON, ALL LOST . I2O

XIII. LITERARY ENDEAVOURS TOGETHER IN PARIS 136

XIV. THE FLAME BURNS 150

XV. THE END 155

APPENDIX 167

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY .... 177

INTRODUCTION.

T IMMEDIATELY on receiving the news of Sonya
A Kovalevsky's sudden and unexpected death, I felt
that it was a duty incumbent upon me to continue,
in one form or another, the reminiscences of her early
life, which had been published in Swedish under the
title of " The Sisters Rajevsky."

There were many reasons which made me consider
this my special duty ; but the chief one was the fact,
that Sonya had always entertained a feeling that she
would die young, and that I should outlive her ; and
over and over again she made me promise to write her
biography.

Introspective and self-analysing as she was to an
extraordinary degree, she was accustomed to dissect
minutely her own actions, thoughts and feelings ; both
for her own benefit, and, during the three or four
years in which we were together almost daily, for mine
also. She always tried to classify her ever-changing
moods and disposition according to a given psycho-
logical system. This habit of self-criticism was so
strong that she often unconsciously transformed the

viii INTRODUCTION.

actual facts. But, however keen and at times un-
merciful her self-analysis might be, there was blent
with it the natural impulse to self-idealisation. She
saw herself as she wished to be seen ; hence the
picture she drew of herself was in many details unlike
what others found her to be. Sometimes she judged
herself more harshly, sometimes more leniently, than
others judged her.

Had she, as she intended, continued the reminiscences
of her childhood by writing the whole history of her
life, the picture would have been the one which she
outlined and filled in for me in our many long, psycho-
logical conversations.

Unfortunately she cannot complete this work ; which
would undoubtedly have been the most remarkable
autobiography in the world of literature.

It falls, then, to my lot to draw, in faint outline, the
picture of Sonya's life, feeling that, limned by her own
hand, it would have been deeply and intensely imbued
with her own personality.

From the first I knew that the only way in which
I could succeed in my task, would be to write, so to
speak, under her suggestion. I felt I must endeavour
to identify myself with her as I used to do while she
still lived. I must strive to be again what she so often
called me, her " second /." I must depiqt her, as far
as possible, in the light in which she showed herself to
me. Meanwhile I could not decide to publish the
reminiscences which I began to write down shortly
after Sonya's death, and I allowed a year to pass
without doing so. During that year I conversed with

INTRODUCTION. ix

many of her friends, both of former and of recent
date. I corresponded with those who were absent in
foreign lands whenever I could find them ; and thus
sought to supplement my own memory in all things
concerning Sonya's external life. I have quoted from
my correspondence all that seemed important as casting
light upon her character, but always, of course, from
the point of view 'I have indicated : that of eluci-
dating her own interpretation of herself.

As will be seen, I have not sought to sketch the
life-history of my friend from an objective point of
view. But is the objective standpoint necessarily the
true one, when we deal with the interpretation of
character ?

Many may contest the justice of my estimate and
interpretation ; many may judge Sonya's actions and
feelings in quite another light : but this in no way
concerns me, from my point of view.

The data which I have submitted are as accurate as
I can make them. It is only when such data seem to
have been slightly distorted by imagination, that I have
failed to adhere closely to Sonya's guidance.

When I met Henrik Ibsen last summer, and told him
that I was writing a memoir of Sonya Kovalevsky, he
exclaimed —

" Is it her biography in the ordinary meaning of the
word which you intend to write ? or is it not rather a
poem about her ? "

"Yes," I answered ; " that is to say, it will be her
own poem about herself as revealed to me."

x INTRODUCTION.

" That is right ! " he replied. " You must treat the
subject romantically."

This remark strengthened and cheered me, en-
couraging me to follow out the plan which had pre-
sented itself to me.

Let others, who can, describe Sonya objectively. I
cannot attempt anything but a subjective delineation of
my own subjective conception of her, derived from
the vividly subjective interpretation which she herself
gave me.

ANNA CARLOTTA LEFFLER,

DUCHESS OF CAJANELLO.

NAPLES.

CHAPTER I.

GIRLHOOD'S DREAMS. NIHILISTIC MARRIAGE.

SONYA was about seventeen years of age when her
parents took her with them to pass a winter in
St. Petersburg. Just at that time, in the year 1867,
a strong movement was making itself felt among the
thinking portion of the rising generation in Russia.

This movement especially affected the young girls
of Russia, and may be described as an ardent striving
for the freedom and progress of their fatherland, and
for the raising of its intellectual standard.

It was not a Nihilistic, scarcely a political, movement.
It was an eager striving after knowledge and mental
development ; and it had spread so far and wide, that
at that moment hundreds of young girls belonging to
the best families betook themselves to foreign uni-
versities in order to study.

But as parents in general opposed such aspirations in
their daughters, girls had, in order to effect their pur-
pose, recourse to strange tactics, which were, however,
characteristic of the times. They went through the
form of marriage with young men devoted to the same
ideas which they held sacred, and in this manner, as

2 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

married women, they escaped from parental authority,
and were enabled to go abroad at the first opportunity.

Many of the Russian women-students in Zurich,
who were afterwards recalled by an Imperial ukase
(being suspected of Nihilistic tendencies, although they
only thought of studying in peace), were married to
men who had accompanied them to the universities
and by mutual agreement had then left them free to
pursue their studies.

This kind of coterie, with its abstract and ulterior
motive, was very popular at the time in the circles in
St. Petersburg to which Sonya and her sister belonged.
Indeed, it seemed to Sonya, and to most of her friends,
a far higher conception of the marriage state than the
low and commonplace idea of a union between two
persons for the mere satisfaction of their passions, or
the purely selfish happiness of what is generally termed
a " Jove-match."

According to the ideal which these young people
cherished, personal happiness was altogether a sub-
ordinate consideration ; the sacrifice of self for the
general weal alone was great and noble. Study and
self-development were the means by which these young
people hoped to infuse new vigour into the father-
land they loved so dearly and to assist its struggle
from darkness and oppression into light and freedom.

This was the passionate longing which filled the
hearts of the daughters of old aristocratic families, who
hitherto had been educated solely as women of the
world, or as future wives and mothers.

No wonder that their parents were unable to under-

GIRLHOOD'S DREAMS. 3

stand them, and were hostile to the symptoms of
independence and determined rebellion which now and
again broke through the mysterious reticence with
which the young treated the old. " Oh, what a
happy time it was ! " Sonya would often exclaim,
when talking of this period of her life. " We were
so enthusiastic about the new ideas ; so sure that the
present social state could not continue long. We
pictured to ourselves the glorious period of liberty
and universal enlightenment of which we dreamt, and
in which we firmly believed. Besides this, we had
the sense of true union and co-operation. When
three or four of us met in a drawing-room among
older people, where we had no right to advance
our opinions — a tone, a glance, even a sigh, was
sufficient to show each other that we were one in
thought and sympathy. And when we discovered this,
how great was the inward delight at realising that
close to us was some young man or woman, whom
we had never seen before, and with whom we had
apparently only exchanged some commonplace remark,
yet whom we found to be devoted to the same ideas
and hopes, ready for self-sacrifice in the same cause."

At that time no one noticed little Sonya in the circle
which gradually gathered around her sister Anyuta,
who was six years her senior, and the centre of a
group of friends. Sonya was still a child in outward
appearance, and it was only through Anyuta's affection
for her shy little sister, with " the green-gooseberry
eyes," that the girl was allowed to be present. How
brightly those eyes sparkled at every warm and

4 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

enthusiastic word which fell from the older members
of the circle, though Sonya kept herself in the shadow
of her more brilliant sister !

Sonya admired this sister above all things, and
believed her to be her superior in beauty, charm,
talent, and intelligence. But in her admiration lay a
certain amount of jealousy ; the jealousy which strives
to emulate its object, not that which belittles and
disparages it. This jealousy, of which Sonya speaks
in her reminiscences, was characteristic of her through-
out her life. She was apt to over-estimate the qualities
she longed to possess, and the want of which she
deplored. She was also greatly impressed by beauty
and charm of manner. These qualities her sister
appears to have possessed in a far greater degree than
herself, and her day-dream was to surpass that sister
in other matters.

From her childhood, Sonya had always been praised
for her intelligence. Her natural love of study, and
her thirst for knowledge, were now seconded by her
ambition, and by the encouragement she received from
her master in mathematics. She showed such extra-
ordinary keenness and quickness of perception, and
such fertility of origination, that her scientific gifts
were not to be mistaken. Her father had only per-
mitted this unusual and " unfeminine " study through
the influence of one of his oldest friends (himself some-
what given to mathematics), who had discovered
Sonya's uncommon aptitude for this science. But at
the first suspicion that his daughter intended to take
up the study seriously, the father drew back in dismay.

GIRLHOOD'S DREAMS. 5

Her first shy hints that she wished to go to a foreign
university were as unwelcome as had been, a few years
previously, the discovery of Anyuta's authorship. It
was regarded as a reprehensible tendency towards
impropriety. Young girls of good family, who had
already carried out similar plans, were simply regarded
as mere adventuresses, who had brought shame and
sorrow upon their parents. Thus, in the homes of the
aristocracy, there existed two opposing currents ; first,
the hidden, secret and stifled, but rebellious and intense
striving, which could not be resisted, and which found
its own outlet like a natural force ; and, secondly, the
open and genuine conviction, on the parents' side, of
their right to stem and hold in check, to regulate and
to discipline, this same unknown and mysterious natural
force.

Anyuta and one of her friends, who was also full of
the desire to study abroad, and likewise prevented from
doing so by her parents, now came to a definite deter-
mination. Either of them, it mattered little which,
was to make one of the ideal and platonic marriages
before alluded to. They hoped that this arrangement
would give both of them their liberty. They thought,
if one of them were married, the other would obtain
permission from her parents to accompany her friend
abroad. Such a journey would no longer appear in an
objectionable light, but might be regarded as a mere
pleasure-trip.

Sonya was to accompany her sister. She was so
entirely Anyuta's shadow, that it was utterly impossible
to imagine the one without the other. The plan once

6 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

made, the first step was to find the right man to help
them to carry it out.

Anyuta and her friend Inez reviewed their circle of
acquaintances, and their choice fell on a young professor
at the university, whom they knew only slightly, but
of whose honesty and devotion to the common cause
they were convinced. So, one fine day, the three girls,
Sonya as usual bringing up the rear, went to see the
professor in his own house. He was seated at his
writing-table when the servant introduced the three
young ladies, whose presence there somewhat astonished
him, for they did not belong to the circle of his more
intimate lady friends. He rose politely and asked
them to be seated.

Down they all three sat in a row on the sofa, and a
moment's awkward pause followed.

The professor sat in his rocking-chair facing his
visitors, and looked first at one and then at the other of
them, — at the fair Anyuta (tall, slim, with a peculiar
charm in her svelte and graceful movements), whose large
and lustrous eyes, dark and blue, were fixed upon him
fearlessly, and yet with a certain indecision, — at the
dark Inez, stout and clumsy, with an eagle nose, and
an intrepid look in her prominent eyes, — at the fragile
Sonya, with her abundant curls, her pure, correct
features, innocent childish forehead and strange eyes,
full of passionate inquiry, of wonder, and of attention.

Anyuta at last commenced the conversation as they
had intended. Without the least sign of timidity she
asked the professor if he were willing to free them
by going through the marriage ceremony with one of

GIRLHOOD'S DREAMS. 7

them, accompanying them to a university either in
Germany or Switzerland, and there leaving them. In
another country, or under other circumstances, a young
man could hardly listen to such a proposal from a
handsome girl without, in his answer, showing some
foolish gallantry, or expressing a touch of irony ; but
in this case the man was equal to the occasion. Anyuta
had not been mistaken in her choice. The professor
answered, quite seriously and coldly, that he had not the
least inclination to accept such a proposal. And the
girls? — One would suppose that they must have felt
terribly humiliated by this flat refusal. Such, however,
was not the case. Feminine vanity had nothing to do
with the matter. The question of personally pleasing
the young man had never entered into their project.
They received his refusal as coolly as a young man
might do whose friend had not accepted an invitation
to travel abroad with him. So they all went off,
shaking hands with the professor at the door, and did
not meet him again for many years. They felt sure
he would not abuse the confidence they had placed
in him, for he belonged to the secret brotherhood
which, though it was not a society in the ordinary sense
of the word, still united in one indissoluble bond the
hearts of all those who were devoted to the same cause.
Some fifteen years later, when Madame Kovalevsky
was at the height of her celebrity, she met the professor
in St. Petersburg society, and jested with him about the
rejected offer of marriage.

Just at this time one of Anyuta's friends committed
the crime of a love-marriage. How they despised her,

8 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

and bewailed her lot ! Sonya's heart more especially
swelled with anger at such a mean failure of their
ideals. Even the newly married couple were as shame-
faced before their young friends as though they had
committed a veritable crime. They never dared to
talk to them about their wedded bliss, and the wife
even forbade her husband to show the least sign of
affection in their presence.

Meanwhile an unexpected circumstance occurred in
Sonya's life. Anyuta and Inez, who still kept to their
original plan, not allowing themselves to be defeated
by their first rebuff, had chosen another young man
as their liberator. He was only a student, but an
exceptionally clever one, who also desired to go to
Germany to complete his studies. He was of good
family, and generally considered to be a rising man.
They therefore hoped that, if it came to pass, neither
Inez nor Anyuta's parents would have any serious
objection to urge against the marriage. This time the
proposal was made in a less formal manner. Once,
when they met, as they often did, at the house of
mutual friends, Anyuta took the opportunity of putting
her proposal to the young man during the course of
conversation. He replied, much to her astonishment,
that he quite agreed to the suggestion, with, however,
a slight variation in the programme. He would like to
marry Sonya. This declaration caused much anxiety
to the three conspirators. How could they induce
Sonya's father to allow her, hardly more than a child,
to marry, while her elder sister, already twenty-three
years of age, remained unmarried ? They knew that if

GIRLHOOD'S DREAMS. 9

a moderately suitable match had been proposed for the
latter, her father would not have been obdurate. In
fact, Anyuta gave him much anxiety by her capricious
and uncertain temperament. She was, moreover, of an
age at which she ought to have been married. Certainly
the student Kovalevsky was young, but he had before
him a promising future, and no doubt he would have
been accepted willingly enough for the eldest daughter.
But with regard to Sonya, it was altogether a different
matter.

The proposal now made to the father was absolutely
refused without appeal ; and a return to the country
place of the family, Palibino, was immediately arranged.

The girls were in despair at returning to Palibino,
for this meant the surrender of the hopes and interests
which had been to them the very breath of life. It
was a return to a prison, but without the charm of true
martyrdom in a great cause. Indeed a real imprison-
ment would have been easier for them to bear than
the unpoetic banishment with which they were now
threatened.

The timid Sonya took a bold resolution. The tender
young girl, who could not bear an unkind glance or a
word of disapproval from those she loved, became at this
critical moment like steel. For though of a delicate,
sympathetic, and affectionate nature, she had within
her a vein of sternness and flint-like inflexibility, which
came to the fore at any crisis. She who, dog-like,
would nestle up and fondle any one who smiled kindly
upon her, could, when roused to battle, trample every
feeling under foot, and wound in cold blood those

io SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

on whom, a moment before, she had lavished the
warmest tokens of affection.

This arose from her intensity of will. For her will was
so strong, that it became an over-mastering force, even
when it had to do with a purpose entirely unconnected
with feeling. What she desired, what she wished, she
desired with such painful intensity that she was almost
consumed by it. Now she wanted to leave her parents'
home, and continue her studies, cost what it might.

One evening there was to be a family gathering at
her father's house. In the afternoon her mother had
gone out to choose flowers for her table, or new music
for her pianoforte. Her father was at his club, and
the governess was helping the maid to decorate the
drawing-room with plants.

The girls were alone in their room, and their pretty
new dresses were lying ready for dinner. They were
never allowed to go out of doors without being accom-
panied by the footman or the governess. But Sony a
seized upon this moment, when every one was occupied,
to slip out of the house. Anyuta, who was in the con-
spiracy, accompanied Sonya downstairs, and stood at the
door until she was out of sight. She then ran back to
her room with a beating heart, and began to put on her
light blue dress.

It was already twilight, and the first gas-lamps were
just being lighted. Sonya had drawn down her veil
and pulled her Russian hood well over her face. She
went hesitatingly down the broad empty street which
she had never before traversed alone. Her pulses were
beating high with the feverish excitement which always

GIRLHOOD'S DREAMS. n

accompanies and lends enchantment to great moments
in the lives of romantic people. Sonya felt herself the
heroine of the romance now opening. She, the little
Sonya, who had hitherto been nothing but her sister's
shadow ! but the romance was of quite a different
kind to the love-tales of which literature is full, and
which she herself despised.

For this was no lover's tryst to which Sonya's light
feet were speeding so rhythmically. It was no passionate
love that made her heart beat, as, breathless with fright,
and with foolish horror of the darkness, child that she
was, she sped up the dark flight of steps to a dilapidated
house in a miserable street. She rapped three nervous
little taps on a certain door, which opened so quickly
that it was clear the young man who presented himself
had been on the watch, and was expecting her. He
immediately led her into a simple study, where books
were piled up in every direction, and where a sofa had
been evidently emptied of them to receive her.

The young man was not quite an ideal hero of
romance. His large red beard and prominent nose
gave him, at first sight, an ugly aspect. But, once you
met the clear glance of his deep blue eyes, you found in
them such a kindly, intelligent, and honest expression,
that they grew most attractive. His manner to this
young girl, who showed such strange confidence in
him, was quite that of an elder brother. The two
young people sat down excitedly on the sofa, listening
for angry footsteps on the stairs. Sonya started up,
turning red and white, each time she thought she
heard a movement in the corridor.

12 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

Meanwhile her parents had returned home, but
only just in time — as the girls had well calculated —
to dress for dinner before their guests arrived. They
therefore did not notice Sonya's absence until all the
guests were assembled in the dining-room, and were
about to sit down to table.

" Where is Sonya ? " they both asked in the same
breath, turning to the pale Anyuta, who seemed more
self-conscious than usual, with her defiant glance, and
nervous, expectant air.

" She is out," she answered in a low voice, the
trembling of which she could not conceal, and averting
her eyes from her father.

" Gone out ? What does she mean by it ? And
with whom ? "

" Alone. There is a note for you on her dressing-
table."

The footman was sent to fetch the note, and the
company sat down to dinner amid a deathlike silence.

Sonya had calculated her blow better than she
perhaps knew. It was more cruel than she could
have dreamt. In her childish defiance, and with the
selfishness of youth, which knows neither mercy nor
consideration, understanding so little the pain inflicted,
she had wounded her father in his most tender point.
In the presence of her nearest and dearest relatives,
the proud man was forced to swallow the humiliation
of his daughter's wrong-doing.

The note contained only these words : " Father,
forgive me, I am with Vladimir, and beg you will no
longer oppose our marriage."

GIRLHOOD'S DREAMS. 13

General Krukovsky read these lines in silence. He
rose immediately from the table, murmuring an excuse
to those who sat near him. Ten minutes later Sonya
and her companion, who had been listening more and
more intently, heard the angry steps for which they
had watched. The door, which had not been locked,
sprang open without any previous knock, and General
Krukovsky stood before his trembling daughter.

Just before the close of the dinner the General and
his daughter, accompanied by Vladimir Kovalevsky,
entered the dining-room.

" Allow me," said the General, in an agitated voice,
" to present to you my daughter Sony a.' s fane e."

CHAPTER II.

IN THE UNIVERSITY.

IN the foregoing words Sonya used to relate to me
the most dramatic incidents of her peculiar marriage.
Her parents forgave her, and shortly after, in October,
1868, the marriage was celebrated at Palibino. The
newly wedded couple went immediately to St. Peters-
burg, where Sonya was introduced by her husband to
circles interested in political events ; and thus one of her
great desires was fulfilled.

A lady, who afterwards became her most intimate
friend, relates, in the following words, the impression
which Sonya made on her new acquaintances.

" Among these women, married and unmarried, who
were also deeply interested in politics — women who
were more or less worn out and harassed by life — Sonya
Kovalevsky made a peculiar impression. Her childish
face procured her the name of 'the little Sparrow.' She
was just eighteen, but looked much younger. Small,
slender, with a round face and short curly chestnut hair,
she had very mobile features. Her eyes, especially,
were exceedingly expressive — sometimes bright and
dancing, sometimes dreamy and full of melancholy.

IN THE UNIVERSITY. 15

Her whole expression was a mixture of childish inno-
cence and deep thought. She attracted every one by the
unconscious charm which was her principal characteristic
at this period of her life. Old and young, men and
women, all were fascinated by her. Natural in manner,
without the least trace of coquetry, she never seemed to
notice the homage lavished upon her. She took no
pains about her personal appearance or dress, the latter
being as simple as possible, even showing a tendency to
slovenliness, a trait which remained with her to the last."

In connection with this peculiarity, the same friend
relates the following characteristic little incident :

" I remember, shortly after our acquaintance began,
how once, when I was talking enthusiastically to Sonya
about something which interested us both — in those
days we never could talk otherwise than enthusiastically
— she occupied herself the whole time in pulling off the
trimming of her left sleeve, which had become unsewn ;
and when at last she managed to tear it all off, she threw
it on the ground as if it were of no value and she was
only too glad to be rid of it."

After having lived during six months in St. Peters-
burg, the young couple left for Heidelberg in the spring
of 1869 » Sonya to study mathematics, and her husband
to study geology. After they had matriculated there,
they went to England, where Sonya had the opportunity
of making acquaintance with the most celebrated persons
of the day, George Eliot, Darwin, Spencer, Huxley,
and others.

In George Eliot's diary, published in Mr. Cross's
biography of his wife, we find the following remarks,

16 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

dated October 6, 1869: "On Sunday an interesting
Russian pair came to see us, M. and Mme. Kovalevsky ;
she, a pretty creature with charming modest voice and
speech who is studying mathematics (by allowance
through the aid of Kirchhoff) at Heidelberg : he, amiable
and intelligent, studying the concrete sciences apparently,
especially geology, and about to go to Vienna for six
months for this purpose, leaving his wife at Heidel-
berg ! "

This plan was not immediately realised, and Vladimir
stayed for one term in Heidelberg with his wife. Their
life at this period is described by the friend already
quoted, who had, we may remark in passing, received
through Sonya's intervention, her parents' permission to
study.

" A few days after my arrival in Heidelberg, in
October, 1869, Sony a and her husband arrived from
England. She seemed very happy and pleased with
her journey. She was as fresh, rosy and joyous as when
I first saw her. But there was an increased fire and
sparkle in her eyes. She felt within her the develop-
ment of new vigour and energy in the pursuit of the
studies she had barely begun. Her serious aspirations
did not prevent her, however, from finding enjoyment
even in the simplest things. I well remember our walk
together the day after their arrival. We had wandered
about in the neighbourhood of the town, when we came
to a level road, we two young girls began to run races
like children. Oh ! how fresh are those memories of
the early days of our University life ! Sonya seemed to
me so very happy, and that in such a noble way ; yet,

IN THE UNIVERSITY. 17

when in after years she spoke of her youth, it was
always with a deep bitterness, as though she had wasted
it. At such times I remembered those first happy
months in Heidelberg ; those enthusiastic discussions
on every kind of topic, and her poetical relationship to
her young husband, who in those days adored her with
quite an ideal love, without any mixture of less noble
feeling. She seemed to love him in the same way, and
both were innocent of those lower passions which
usually go by the name of love. When I think of all
this, it seems to me that Sonya had no reason to com-
plain. Her youth was really filled with noble feelings
and aspirations, and she had at her side a man, with
his feelings completely under control, who loved her
tenderly. This was the only time I have known
Sonya to be really happy. A little later, even a year
later, it was no longer quite the same.

" Immediately after our arrival at Heidelberg, the
lectures began. During the day we were all three at
the University, and the evenings were also devoted to
study. We had rarely time, during the week, to take
walks, but on Sundays we always made long excursions
outside Heidelberg, and sometimes we went to the
theatre at Mannheim.

" We had very few acquaintances, and very seldom
called on any of the professors' families. From the
first Sonya attracted the attention of her teachers by
her extraordinary talent for mathematics. Professor
Konigsberger, and the celebrated scientist KirchhofF,
whose lectures on practical physics she attended, both
spoke of her as something quite marvellous. Her fame

3

1 8 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

spread so widely in the little town that people some-
times stopped in the streets to look at the wonderful
Russian. Once she came home and told me laughingly,
how a poor woman, with a child on her arm, had
stopped and pointed to her, saying aloud to the child,
* Look ! look ! there is the girl who is so diligent at
school ! *

" Retiring and bashful, and almost awkward in her
manner to her fellow-students and professors, Sonya
always entered the University with downcast eyes ; she
never spoke to her companions, if she could avoid it,
during the time of study. Her behaviour enchanted
the German professors, who always admire bashfulness
in a woman, especially in one so young and charm-
ing, a student moreover of so abstract a science as
mathematics. This bashfulness was not in the least
put on, but entirely natural to Sonya at that time. I
remember very well when she came home one day
and told me how she had discovered an error in the
demonstration which some pupil or professor had
made on the blackboard during the lesson. He got
more and more confused and could not find out where
the mistake lay. Sonya told me how her heart beat
when at last she had the courage to rise and go up to
the blackboard, pointing out where the error lay.

" But our life a trots, so happy and so full — for M.
Kovalevsky was deeply interested in all subjects, even
those which did not touch on science — did not last
long.

" Sonya's sister and her friend Inez arrived at the
beginning of the winter. They were both many years

IN THE UNIVERSITY. 19

our seniors. As we had not much room, Kovalevsky
decided to move, and give up his room to them. Sonya
visited him very often, constantly spending the whole
day with him, and they often took walks together
without us. It naturally was not pleasant for them
to be surrounded by so many women, especially as
the two new-comers were not always amiable to-
wards Kovalevsky. They had their peculiar ideas,
and thought that as the marriage after all was only
a formal one, Kovalevsky ought not to have tried to
give a more intimate aspect to his intercourse with his
wife. This interference caused irritation, and spoiled
the good understanding of our little circle.

" After a term spent thus, Kovalevsky decided to
leave Heidelberg, where he no longer felt at ease.
He went first to Jena, and then to Munich. There
he lived for study alone. He was richly endowed by
nature, exceedingly industrious, very simple in his
habits, and with no desire for recreation. Sonya very
often said that a book and a glass of tea was all that
he needed to content him. This characteristic was not
quite pleasing to Sonya. She began to be jealous of his
studies when she found that they made up for the loss
of her company. We sometimes went with her to pay
him a visit, and in the holidays they always travelled
together. These trips seemed to give Sonya great
pleasure. But she could not accustom herself to live
apart from her husband, and she began to worry him
with continual demands. She would not travel alone,
but he must come and fetch her and take her where
she wanted to go. Just when he was most busy with

20 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

his studies, he had to undertake commissions for her,
and help her in all those trifles which he had of his
own accord very good-naturedly taken upon his own
shoulders, but which seemed to worry him now that
he was absorbed by scientific study."

When Sonya, later on, recalled her past life, her
complaint was always " No one has ever loved me
truly ; " and if I pleaded, " But your husband loved
you truly," she would reply, " He loved me only when
he was with me, but he got on so well without me
that he could quite well live apart from me."

It seemed to me a very simple explanation of the
matter, that he preferred, under the circumstances, and
busy as he then was with study, not to spend too much
time near her. But Sonya did not see it in this light.
She had always, from childhood to her very last hour,
strange craving for unnatural and strained relation-
ships ; she wanted to own without being owned by
any one.

I believe that in this characteristic lies the clue to
her life's tragedy. I will again allow myself to quote
further observations, made by the same friend and
fellow-student, to show that even in her early youth
this idiosyncrasy, which became the source of all Sonya's
inner struggles and sufferings in after life, was already
developed.

" Sonya valued success to a very great degree.
When she had once an aim, nothing could withhold
her from its pursuit, and when her feelings were not
in question she always compassed her end. When her
heart was concerned, curiously enough, she lost her

IN THE UNIVERSITY. 21

clear judgment. She required too much from those
who loved her and whom she loved, and thought to
gain by force what would have been given to her
spontaneously, had it not been demanded. She had an
intense yearning for tenderness and intimate friendship.
She also needed to have some one near her, who would
never leave her, and was interested in all that interested
herself ; but she made life unbearable to all who lived
with her. She was herself too restless, too ill-balanced
in temperament, to be satisfied with such loving com-
panionship, although it was her ideal. Her own in-
dividuality was far too pronounced for her to live in
harmony with others. Kovalevsky was also, in his
way, restless by nature ; always full of new ideas and
plans. It is impossible to say whether these two, both
so rarely endowed, could ever, under any circumstances
whatsoever, have lived happily together for any length
of time."

Sonya remained two years in Heidelberg, until the
autumn of 1870, when she went to Berlin to continue
her studies under Professor Weierstrass' direction.
Her husband had meanwhile received his doctor's
degree in Jena, and written a treatise which attracted
much attention. He thus gained great celebrity and
became a scientist of importance.

CHAPTER III.

STUDIES UNDER WEIERSTRASS. VISITS TO PARIS
DURING THE COMMUNE.

PROFESSOR WEIERSTRASS, much to his as-
JL tonishment, one day found a young and beautiful
woman standing before him, asking him to take
her as a pupil in mathematics. The University
of Berlin was closed to female students then as now.
But Sonya's enthusiastic desire to be directed in her
studies by the man regarded as the father of modern
mathematical analysis, induced her to entreat him to
give her private lessons. The professor looked at his
unknown visitor with a certain amount of incredulity.
He promised to try her, and gave her some of the
problems to solve which he had set for his more
advanced students in mathematics. He was con-
vinced she would not succeed, and gave the matter no
further thought. Indeed, her appearance, at the first
interview, had made no impression on him whatever.
Badly dressed, as she always was at this period of her
life, she wore, on this special occasion, a hat which
quite hid her face, and might have suited a woman
twice her age.

STUDIES UNDER WEIERSTRASS. 23

Professor Weierstrass himself told me later, that he
had no idea at the time either of her extreme youth, or
of the highly intellectual expression of face which usually
predisposed every one in her favour.

A week later she came to him again, saying she had
solved all the problems. He would not believe her,
and bade her sit down beside him and go through her
solutions point by point. To his great astonishment,
not only was everything quite right, but the solutions
were eminently clear and original. In her eagerness
she took off her hat, and her short curly hair fell over
her brow. She blushed vividly with delight at the
professor's approbation. He, no longer young, felt a
sudden emotion of tenderness for this child-woman,
who was gifted with the intuition of genius in a
degree he had seldom found among even his older and
more mature students.

From that hour the great mathematician was Sonya's
friend for life, and the most faithful, tender counsellor
she could have desired. She was received in his family
like a daughter and sister, and continued her studies
under his guidance for four years. Most important was
the influence thus exercised on her future scientific
activity, which ever after pursued the direction given it
by Weierstrass. All her scientific writings are appli-
cations or developments of her master's theses.

Sonya's husband had followed her to Berlin, but
left her to live alone there with her friend from
Heidelberg, visiting her, however, very frequently.
The relations between them continued peculiar, and
provoked some astonishment in the Weierstrass family,

24 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

where her husband never showed himself, though his
wife was on an intimate footing with all its members.
Sonya never mentioned her husband, nor did she intro-
duce him to the professor, but on Sunday evenings,
when she went to Weierstrass (he coming to her once a
week besides), her husband went to the door when the
lesson was finished, rang the bell, and told the servant
to inform Madame Kovalevsky that the carriage was
waiting.

Sonya had always been shy about the unnatural rela-
tions between her husband and herself. One of the
Heidelberg professors used to tell how, when he hap-
pened to meet Kovalevsky at his wife's house, she
would introduce him in a vague way as a " relation."

Her friend before quoted says of their life in Berlin :
" Our life there was even more monotonous and lonely
than in Heidelberg. We lived all by ourselves. Sonya
was busy at her problems the whole day long, and I was
at the Laboratory till the evening, when, after partaking
together of a hasty repast, we again sat down to work.
Excepting Professor Weierstrass, who was a constant
visitor, we never saw any one within our doors. Sonya
was always in low spirits. Nothing seemed to give her
pleasure, and she was indifferent to everything but study.
Her husband's visits always brightened her up, but the
joy of meeting was clouded by frequently recurring mis-
understandings and reproaches, though they seemed to
be very fond of one another, and constantly took long
walks together.

" When Sonya was alone with me, she never wanted
to leave the house, not even for a walk, nor for the

STUDIES UNDER WEIERSTRASS. 25

most necessary shopping, far less to go to the theatre or
any place of amusement. At Christmas time we were
invited to the Weierstrasses', who had a Christmas-tree
in our honour. Sonya was absolutely in need of a dress,
but could not be induced to go and buy one. We
nearly quarrelled about this dress, for I would not buy
it alone. (Had her husband been there, all would have
been well, for he always looked after her and chose both
the material and pattern of her dress.) Finally she
decided on allowing her hostess to choose and order the
dress, so that she need not stir out of doors about it.
Her power of endurance when at the most difficult
mental work, sitting hour after hour immovable at her
desk, was almost phenomenal. In the evening, when
she finally put up her papers, she would be so absorbed
in her own thoughts that she would begin walking
rapidly up and down the room, often ending in a run ;
and she often talked aloud to herself, and sometimes
even burst into laughter. At such times she seemed to
be altogether beyond earthly things, and to be carried
away from the world on the wings of imagination. But
she would never tell me what her day-dreams were
about. She did not sleep much at night, and, when
asleep, was always restless. Sometimes she would wake
suddenly, roused by some fantastic dream, and then
would frequently ask me to keep awake also. She
liked to relate her dreams, which were often interesting
and peculiar. They were generally of the nature of
visions, and she believed them to be to a certain extent
prophetic, and certainly they did sometimes prove true.
" On the whole Sonya had a highly nervous tempera-

26 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

ment. Never quiet ; always having some deeply in-
volved aim before her, she longed intensely for success,
yet never have I seen her more depressed than just
when she had attained some object for which she had
worked. Reality seemed so poor compared with her
expectations. While striving to obtain her object she
was often far from agreeable to others, being intently
absorbed in her work. But when depressed and un-
happy in the midst of success, she aroused quite in-
voluntarily one's deepest pity. This continual variation
of light and shadow in her temperament rendered her
most interesting. But on the whole, our life in Berlin,
spent in uncomfortable rooms, bad air, and amid un-
ceasing wearing mental labour, without any interval of
recreation, was so devoid of pleasure, that I often looked
back on our early Heidelberg days as on a lost Paradise.

"When, in the autumn of 1874, Sonya had obtained
her doctor's degree, she was so worn out, physically and
mentally, that, on her return to Russia, she could not do
any work for a long time."

The want of delight in her work above mentioned
was peculiar to Sonya when she had any scientific
labours in hand. She always overdid herself, and in no
way could enjoy life or the work itself ; and thought \
instead of being her servant, was her tyrant. At such
times she experienced none of the joy of creating. It
was different later on, when she took up literary work.
This always gave her delight, and put her into good
spirits.

Other causes, besides Sonya's overstrain at her
work, contributed to make her stay in Berlin far from

STUDIES UNDER WEIERSTRASS. 27

agreeable. To begin with, there was her position with
regard to her husband. The sense of its strangeness
had been aggravated by the interference of her parents.
They had visited her several times, had even taken her
back to St. Petersburg; had found out how matters stood,
had reproached her for her behaviour, and tried to bring
husband and wife together. But Sonya would not hear
of it. Secondly, Sonya was displeased with her isolated
position. She had already that hunger for a fuller life
which afterwards consumed her. In her inmost heart
she was as little as possible the female pedant which her
manner of life suggested. But bashfulness, or a want
of practical sense ; the feeling of the strangeness of her
own circumstances ; the fear of allowing herself to be
compromised in her lonely position — all conduced to
the isolation she so greatly regretted when speaking, in
after life, of her early youth.

The want of practical knowledge in her friend, too,
contributed greatly to make their merely material life
together unbearable. They always chanced on the
most miserable lodgings, the worst servants, the worst
food. Once they fell into the hands of a whole gang
of thieves, who systematically plundered them. They
had noticed that one of the maid-servants had been
stealing their things for a long time. When they re-
proached her, she grew impertinent, and they were
obliged to dismiss her at a moment's notice. The same
evening, as they sat alone, having no one to help them
to make their beds for the night, some one knocked at
the window, which was on the ground-floor. Looking
out, they saw a strange woman peering in. They called

28 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

out anxiously to know what she wanted. She replied
she wanted to enter their service. She impressed them
disagreeably, but such was their helplessness, that,
frightened though they were, they engaged her. This
woman tyrannised over them, and plundered them so
outrageously, that they had to call in the police before
they could get rid of her.

Sonya was, however, very indifferent to the material
side of life. She barely noticed whether her food was
good or bad, or if her room was tidy, or whether her
clothes were in good order or torn. It was only when
things got to be quite unbearable that she became con-
scious of them. But, when she had no practical friend
at hand, this happened pretty often.

In January, 1871, Sonya was obliged to break off
her studies with Weierstrass to set forth on a most
adventurous expedition.

Anyuta had wearied of her monotonous life at Heidel-
berg, and had gone to Paris without her parents' permis-
sion. She wanted to educate herself as an authoress, and
naturally felt no interest in a circumscribed life with
Sonya in a student's chamber. She wished to study the
world and the theatre, and live in literary circles.

As soon, therefore, as she was free from parental
control, she definitely took her own way. It was im-
possible for her to write and tell her father that she was
living alone in Paris, so she gave full license to her
desire to live her own life independently, and deceived
him. She wrote to him through Sonya, so that her let-
ters always bore the same postmark as those of her sister.
She originally intended to make but a short stay in Paris,

STUDIES UNDER WEIERSTRASS. 29

and quieted her conscience by the plea that she would
explain her conduct by word of mouth.

But she soon drifted into a position and entangle-
ment from which it was impossible for her to
extricate herself. Every day she remained in Paris it
became more difficult to communicate honestly with her
parents. She linked her fortunes with those of a young
Frenchman, who later became one of the Communist
leaders ; and she thus found herself immured in Paris
during the whole of the siege.

Sonya was much disturbed as to the fate of her sister,
and deeply impressed with the responsibility which
rested on her own shoulders for having abetted her
secret journey. Immediately the siege was raised, she
and her husband tried to enter Paris in order to search
for Anyuta.

Sonya could never speak of this journey in later
years without congratulating herself, and marvelling at
their success in getting into the town right through
the German army. She and Vladimir wandered on
foot along the Seine till they came to a deserted boat,
drawn up upon the shore. Of this they at once took
possession, and rowed off. But hardly were they at a
little distance from the shore, than a sentinel saw and
challenged them. For reply they rowed away with all
their might, and by good luck, owing to the careless-
ness and dilatoriness of the sentinel, they reached the
opposite side, whence, unobserved, they slipped into
Paris. They thus chanced to arrive there at the very
commencement of the Commune.

Sonya had intended, later on, to publish her ex-

30 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

periences during this epoch, but, alas! like so many
other plans, this lies with her in the grave. Among
other things she intended to write a novel to be
entitled " The Sisters Rajevsky under the Commune."
In it she meant to describe a night with the ambulance-
corps, for she and Anyuta served in it. Here, too,
they found other young girls who had formerly moved
in their own circle in St. Petersburg.

While bombs were whizzing round them, and
wounded men were being constantly brought in, the
girls talked in whispers of their life in Russia, so
unlike their present surroundings that it seemed to
them like a dream. And like a dream, to Sonya, at
least, like a fairy-tale, were all the strange incidents
which now pressed upon her. She was still at the age
of intense fervour of feeling, and the events of world-
wide historic interest that were taking place around
her impressed her more than the most exciting
romance. She watched the bursting bombs without
the least trepidation ; they only excited a not unpleasant
fluttering of the heart, and a secret delight that she
was in the very midst of the drama.

For her sister she could at this moment do nothing.
Anyuta took an active interest in the political dis-
turbances, and asked for nothing better than to risk
her life for the man to whom she had irrevocably
linked her fate.

Shortly after, the Kovalevskys left Paris, and Sonya
resumed her studies in Berlin. But after the suppres-
sion of the Commune, Sonya was again called to Paris.
This time it was her sister who sent for her, entreating

STUDIES UNDER WEIERSTRASS. 31

her intervention with her father. Anyuta longed for
his forgiveness, and was anxious that he should use his
influence to extricate her from the desperate trouble
into which she had now fallen. The man, for whom
she had forsaken all, was a prisoner and doomed to
death.

When one recalls the picture which Sony a has given
of her father in the memories of her childhood, one can
easily realise how terrible a blow it was to him to learn
the whole grim truth of the deception of his children,
and the fact that his eldest daughter had taken her own
course in a manner calculated to wound most deeply all
his instincts and principles.

Years before, he had been almost out of his mind
with grief and deep annoyance on the discovery that
Anyuta had secretly written a novel and had received
money for it. He said to her at the time, " You sell
your work now, but I am not at all sure that the day
will not come when you will sell yourself." Strangely
enough, he was much more gentle on hearing the truth
now, when his daughter had given him a far more
terrible cause of grief. Both he and his wife, accom-
panied by Sonya and her husband, hastened at once to
Paris, and when Krukovsky met his erring daughter, he
was most generous and forgiving. His daughters, who
knew that they deserved quite other treatment, devoted
themselves to him from that hour with a tenderness they
had never before evinced.

I cannot, alas ! give the whole story of this troublous
time. General Krukovsky was acquainted with Thiers ;
he therefore turned to him to procure a pardon for his

32 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

future son-in-law. Thlers answered that no one could
obtain this favour; but one day, in course of conversa-
tion, he related, as if accidentally, how the band of

prisoners, among whom was Monsieur J , would be

moved the following day to another prison. They
were to pass by a building in which there was an
exhibition, and just at an hour when there would be a
good many people about. Anyuta went to the spot,
and mixed with the crowd. The instant the prisoners
appeared, she slipped unnoticed amongst the soldiers

who surrounded them, and, catching Monsieur J

by the arm, disappeared with him through the crowd
into the exhibition. From there they escaped by one
of the other doors, and reached the railway station
in safety.

This tale sounds wild and improbable, but I have
only been able to write it down as I, and many of
Sonya's friends, remember it. When people we love
are dead, how bitterly we regret that we have not
stored up in memory their least word, noted down
all the interesting things they have told us. In the
present case I have all the greater cause for regret,
because Sonya often said to me that I must write her
biography when she was dead. But who thinks, at
the moment of confidential talk, that the day may
come all too quickly when one will stand alone — with
merely the memory of the living bond which united
one with the departed ? Who is not inclined to hope
that the morrow will bring richer opportunities for
supplying the gaps which so often occur in rapid con-
versation, when thoughts run on from point to point !

STUDIES UNDER WEIERSTRASS. 33

In 1874 Sony a received a doctor's degree from the
University of Gottingen on account of three treatises
which she had written under the guidance of Weier-
strass ; and more especially on account of the one
entitled " Zur Theorie der partiellen Differential-
gleichungen " (Crelles Journal, vol. 80). It is consi-
dered one of the most remarkable works she ever
published. She was exempted by special dispensation
from the viva voce examination. The following letter
to the Dean of the Philosophical Faculty in Gottingen
shows the characteristic motive which led Sonya to
crave so rare and exceptional a favour : —

"Your Honour will graciously permit me to add
something to the letter in which I present myself for
admission to the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in
your faculty. It is not lightly that I have decided on
this step, which compels me to forsake the retirement
in which I have hitherto lived. It is only the wish
to satisfy my dearest friends which makes me desire
thus earnestly some decisive test. I wish to give them
an incontestable proof that, in devoting myself to the
study of mathematics, I follow the determined bent of
my nature, and that, moreover, this study is not with-
out result. It is this which has made me overcome
my scruples. I have been told that, as a foreigner,
I can obtain the degree in absentia, if I can show
works of sufficient importance, and produce recom-
mendations from competent authorities.

" At the same time, I hope your Honour will
not misconstrue me, if I acknowledge openly that
I do not know whether I have sufficient aplomb to

4-

34 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

undergo an examen rigorosum, and I fear that the unusual
position, and having to answer, face to face, men with
whom I am altogether unacquainted, would confuse me,
although I know the examiners would do all they could
for me. In addition to this, I speak German very
badly. When I try to speak it, it seems to escape me,
though, when I am at leisure, I can use it in all my
mathematical work. My German 'is faulty because,
though I began to speak it five years ago, I spent
four of those years quite alone in Berlin, never having
any occasion to speak or hear the language, except
during the few hours my honoured master devoted
to me. For these reasons I venture to request your
Honour kindly to intervene so that I may be ex-
empted from the examen rigorosum."

This petition, but above all the great merit of her
work and her excellent testimonials, enabled Sonya to
gain the rare privilege of receiving a doctor's degree
without appearing in person.

Shortly after, the whole family Krukovsky was once
more united in the old ancestral home at Palibino.

CHAPTER IV.

LIFE IN RUSSIA.

HOW that family had changed since the days of
Sonya's childhood as described in her writings !
The two young girls who had dwelt in the quiet home,
dreaming of the strange world of which they were so
ignorant, met there once more as grown-up women,
tried and developed by the experiences which each had
gone through alone.

Life, for them, had indeed been different from the
life of which they had dreamed.

It had, however, been full and varied enough to give
rise to long conversations round the fire during the long
winter evenings spent in the large drawing-room, with
its red damask furniture, the samovar singing on the
table, its home-like sound mingling with the dismal
hunger-song of the wolves in the forest without.

The world beyond these precincts no longer seemed
to the two girls so vast and immeasurable. They had
seen it close at hand, and realised its proportions more
fully.

Anyuta, on the one hand, had led a life full of
excitement, and her craving for emotion had been

35

36 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

more than gratified. She, at least, no longer indulged
in such cravings. She was passionately in love with
the husband who sat beside her, with a weary, satirical
expression on his face. Nay, she was even jealously
attached to him, and her life was still so full of excite-
ment that no extra stimulus was needed.

Her younger sister had hitherto lived entirely with
her brain. She had so completely satisfied her thirst for
knowledge that she was satiated, and mental work was
now impossible. She spent most of her time reading
novels and playing cards, and otherwise sharing in the
social life of her neighbours, who had no higher or
more intellectual pursuits.

Sonya's greatest joy, at this period of her life, was
in the change which had come over her father. He
belonged, as did Sonya herself, to the small class of
individuals who are able, by sheer force of purpose
and will, to modify and develop their own characters.
The harshness and despotism which had been his chief
characteristics were much subdued by the severe trials
to which his daughters had subjected him. He had
learned that no one being can really rule the destiny of
others by force — not even in the case of a father with
his children. He bore, with a tolerance marvellous in
one of his nature, the socialistic and radical assertions
of his Communist son-in-law, and the materialistic
tendencies of the other son-in-law, the scientific pro-
fessor. This was the most cherished memory Sonya
kept of her father, and one which was the more deeply
impressed on her mind because it was associated with
the last winter of his life.

LIFE IN RUSSIA.

37

Her father died unexpectedly and without warn-
ing from heart disease. The blow was terrible to
Sonya. She had, during the last few months, been
on terms of tender intimacy with her father, and had,
indeed, always loved him more than she did her
mother.

This mother had a bright and winning nature.
Every one was kind to her, and she was kind to
every one. But, just in consequence of this, Sonya
was little in sympathy with her mother. She fancied
herself Jess of a favourite with her than the other chil-
dren. But her father had always preferred her to the
others, and, after his death, she felt utterly sad and
lonely.

Anyuta had her husband, on whose neck she could
weep out all her grief. But Sonya had no one to turn
to for comfort. She had always kept at a distance the
man whose highest ambition was to be her comfort and
support. But now this distance seemed to her painful
and unnatural ; and thus her desire for affection induced
her to overcome her prejudices. During the silent
hours of sorrow, the barrier between husband and
wife was broken down.

During the next winter the whole family went to
St. Petersburg. There Sonya soon found herself the
centre of an intellectual circle such as could be hardly
found elsewhere — a circle alert and wide awake ;
mentally, so to speak, on the qui vtve. Enlightened
and liberal-minded Russians are, it is generally agreed,

38 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

far more many-sided, freer from prejudice, and broader
in their views, than other people.

This was the experience, not only of Sonya, but of
all who have ever moved in that circle. Ever in the
van of advanced thought in Europe, and the first to
discover the dawn of fresh light, these Russians are
also more enthusiastic, and have a greater faith in
ideals, than the educated thinkers of other nations.

In this circle Sonya at last felt herself appreciated
and understood.

After five long years spent in severe study, and
utterly devoid of amusement, there was now to her,
in the full prime of her youth, something captivating
and enchanting in the sudden change. All her brilliant
gifts developed as if by magic, and she threw herself
heartily into the whirl of intellectual gaiety, with its
fetes^ theatres, lectures, receptions, picnics, and other
pleasures.

The circle which now surrounded her was more
literary than scientific in its interests. With the
natural longing to be in full sympathy with her
environment, which was one of Sonya's strongest sen-
timents, she now threw herself into literary pursuits.
She wrote newspaper articles, poetry, and theatrical
criticisms. But her writings were always anonymous.
She also wrote a novel entitled " Privat-docenten,"
a tale of a small German university town. It was con-
sidered to show great promise.

Anyuta, who, during these years, lived in St.
Petersburg with her husband, now came definitely to
the fore as an authoress, and with much success ;

LIFE IN RUSSIA. 39

while Vladimir Kovalevsky was busy translating and
publishing popular scientific works, such as " The
Birds " of Brehm.

The legacy left to Sonya by her father was small, for
he willed the bulk of his fortune to his wife. But the
life into which Sonya had plunged demanded a certain
amount of luxury and style. Perhaps it was this which
first induced her to indulge in monetary speculations.
Her husband, who was personally utterly indifferent to
luxury, allowed himself to be drawn into these trans-
actions, for he was of a lively, imaginative, and also
somewhat of a yielding nature.

Venture followed upon venture. The Kovalevskys
built houses, a hydropathic establishment, and extensive
hothouses in St. Petersburg. They published newspapers,
launched new inventions of every kind, and for a time
it looked as though fortune would smile upon them.
Their friends prophesied a brilliant future ; and in
1878, when their first child, a daughter, was born, she
was hailed as a future heiress.

But, as usual, Sonya had even then premonitions of
coming evil. One of her friends recalls to mind, that
on the day on which the foundation-stone of their first
house was to be laid, Sonya remarked that the occasion
was spoiled for her by a dream she had had on the
previous night.

She dreamed that she was standing on the spot
where the stone was to be laid, surrounded by the
throng assembled to witness the ceremony. Suddenly
the crowd parted, and she saw her husband in the
midst struggling with a diabolical being who strove

40 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

to trample him under foot, and who, on succeeding,
laughed sardonically.

This dream affected Sonya so powerfully that she
became depressed and low-spirited for some time ; and
truly it was a dream which, later on, verified itself in a
terrible manner.

When, one after another, these vast speculations
failed, Sonya's fortitude and energy showed themselves
in all their greatness.

She had for a while, it is true, permitted her imagi-
nation to be fired by the common temptation of using
her intelligence and creative genius for the acquisition
of a fortune, but her soul could not long be wedded to
so paltry an ambition. She was able to lose millions at
one blow without suffering a sleepless night or acquiring
a new wrinkle on her brow. She could behold all
prospect of wealth vanish without one regret. She had
desired to be rich because life, in all its forms, tempted
her. Her passionate and imaginative nature made her
wish for a full experience. But when she found that
she could not succeed in this, she withdrew at once,
and summoned up all her energy and fortitude in order
to comfort her husband.

Strange to say, this simple-minded man, to whom
money for its own sake had never been a temptation,
and who had never been attracted by the advantages it
could offer, had thrown his whole soul into their under-
takings, and it seemed as if, to his nature, defeat and
failure were absolutely crushing. Sonya, on the other
hand, with rare courage, not only bowed to the in-
evitable, but also threw herself with renewed zeal into
fresh pursuits.

LIFE IN RUSSIA. 41

She succeeded in averting the impending crisis in
their finances. She shunned neither effort nor humilia-
tion. She went round to the friends who had been
interested in their ventures, and offered terms which
satisfied all parties. She thus earned her husband's
intense gratitude and admiration. Again their fortunes
seemed secured, but the diabolic being who had terrified
Sonya in her dream now crossed their path in dread
reality.

An adventurer, with whom Kovalevsky had come
into contact through his ventures, tried to involve
him in new and yet more dangerous speculations.

Sonya, who read character well at first sight, con-
tracted such an immediate and strong aversion to this
man, that she could not endure his presence in her
house. She entreated her husband to break with him,
and to return to scientific pursuits. But in vain. Vladi-
mir, in 1 88 1, was made Professor of Palaeontology at
the University of Moscow, and there he settled with
his family ; but he could not tear himself away from
speculation, which now took wilder flights than ever.
Petroleum springs in the interior of Russia attracted
his attention. He hoped to gain millions for himself
while increasing and developing Russian industries.
He was so blinded by his coadjutor that he would not
listen to his wife's warnings. As he could not induce
her to adopt his view of the matter, he refused her his
confidence, and carried out his ideas alone. This was
most painful to Sonya, and quite unbearable to a person
of her character.

After sorrow had drawn her closer to her hus-

42 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

band, she had done everything to deepen and in-
tensify their relations to one another. It was her
nature to give herself up with passionate devotion to
that which, for the time being, was foremost in her
life. She also drew marked lines between what was
important and what was unimportant, and this trait in
her character made her superior to others of her sex,
for she never neglected primary for secondary duties,
and never took a narrow view of life. She could not
put up with half-heartedness where feelings were con-
cerned. She would sacrifice everything to secure a
deep whole-hearted union. She strove to the utmost
to rescue her husband from the danger she foresaw.
One of her friends describes her struggles thus :
" Sonya tried to interest Kovalevsky again in science.
She studied geology, helped to prepare his lectures,
and tried to make home-life delightful to him, so
that he might recover his mental balance. But it
was of no avail. My notion is that Kovalevsky
was at that time not in a normal state of mind.
His nerves had been overwrought, and he could not
recover himself."

The adventurer, of course, could wish for nothing
better than to foster the misunderstanding that now
arose between husband and wife. He made Sonya
believe that Kovalevsky's reserve and inaccessibility
were due to other causes, and that she had good cause
for jealousy.

Through Sonya's own book " The Sisters Rajevsky,"
we know that, as a child of ten, she already showed
signs of being possessed by consuming jealousy. To

LIFE IN RUSSIA. 43

touch that chord was to awaken the strongest passion
of her stormy nature. Through it, Sonya now lost
her critical judgment, and was not in a fit state
to inquire whether this charge against her husband
were true or not. Later on in life she became
almost convinced that it had been a pure invention.
But at the moment she felt only a strong inclination
to get away from the humiliation of feeling herself
neglected ; fearing lest her passion should make her
condescend to the pettiness of spying upon her
husband's movements, or lead to distressing scenes.
She dreaded living with a man whose love and
confidence she believed she had lost, or to see
him go to his ruin without being able to save
him.

Such anxieties were too much for a nature to which
resignation was almost impossible. In matters of feel-
ing she was as uncompromising and exacting as she
was lenient and easy to satisfy in all material things.
She had, without loving him, accepted him as her
husband, and made his interests her own. She had
striven to bind him to herself with all the exquisite
tenderness which a nature like hers bestows upon, but
also requires from, the man who was her husband and
the father of her child.

When, despite all, she saw her husband turn from
her, and believed he had put another in her place, the
network of tenderness, which she had purposely woven
around him, broke. Her heart contracted and shut
out the picture of him whom she had determined to
love, and once more she was alone.

44 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

She decided to make a future for herself and her
little daughter entirely by her own endeavours, and she
left husband, home, and country, to resume once more
her student life abroad.

CHAPTER V.

ADVENTURES. BEREAVEMENT.

WHEN the train had moved out of the station, and
Sonya lost sight of the friends who had come to
bid her farewell, she gave vent to the feelings she had
hitherto suppressed, and broke into uncontrollable
sobbing. She wept for the lost years of happiness ;
for the lost dream of full and perfect union with
another soul ; she trembled at the thought of the
lonely student's room, which once had contained her
whole life, but which could not satisfy her any longer,
now that she had experienced the joy of being beloved
in her own home, and by a circle of appreciative
friends.

She tried to console herself by the thought of
resuming her mathematical studies. She dreamed of
writing a book which should make her celebrated,
and bring glory to her sex. But it was useless !
These joys paled before the personal happiness which
during the last few years had been the purpose and aim
of her heart.

The paroxysms of tears became more and more
violent, and she shook from head to foot.

45

46 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

She had not noticed that an elderly gentleman,
sitting opposite to her in the carriage, was watching
her with sympathy.

" I cannot see you cry in this way ! " he exclaimed
at last. " I suppose it is the first time you have gone
out into the world alone. But you are not going into
the midst of cannibals. A young girl like yourself will
always find friends and help when she needs them."

She had allowed this stranger to witness her despair,
though hitherto she had hidden her wounds from her
nearest and dearest. It was a relief when she noticed
that he had not the least idea who she was. During
the conversation which followed, it became evident that
he took her for a little governess going abroad to earn
her living in a strange family.

She kept up his illusion, only too happy to preserve
her incognito, and even amused at playing a little
comedy which served to distract her thoughts. It was
not difficult for her to conceive her role so completely
as to identify herself in imagination with the supposed
poor little governess.

With downcast eyes she received advice and comfort
from her good-natured travelling companion. So strong
was the fantastic element in her character, that despite
her great sorrow, she began to enjoy the mystification.

When the gentleman proposed that they should stop
in the town they were passing through, and see what-
ever it might afford that was interesting, she consented
to do so. They spent a couple of days there, and then
parted without having even learned each other's name
or position.

ADVENTURES. 47

This little episode is characteristic of Sonya's love of
adventure. The stranger had been sympathetic to her.
His kind interest in her sorrow touched her. She felt
alone in the world ; why not accept this bright gleam
which chance had thrown in her way ? Another
woman might doubtless have compromised herself
hopelessly in a man's eyes by such conduct. Two
days' intercourse with a man from morning to evening,
a man who did not even know who she was ! But to
Sonya, so long accustomed to the student life she had
shared with her husband, it seemed quite simple. She
knew well how to draw the line whenever she chose.
No man ever presumed to cross it.

A few years later she entered into equally strange and
peculiar relations with a young man in Paris.

The keeper of the lodging-house in the suburbs of
that city where she lived, must hardly have known
what to think. Time after time, this woman saw a
young man leave the house at two in the morning, and
climb over the palings surrounding the garden. As
this young man spent all his days with Sonya, and often
stayed till late at night, and as, at this time, she had no
other friends, it certainly did seem a rather doubtful
proceeding. Nevertheless, the friendship existing be-
tween these two was of the most ideal kind imaginable.

The young man was a Pole, and a revolutionist.
Moreover, a mathematician and a poet. His and
Sonya's souls were two fiery flames merged in one
glow. No one had ever understood her so well and
sympathised with her so much as he. No one had so
entered into every word, thought, and dream. They

48 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

were almost constantly together, and yet they em-
ployed the few moments during which they were parted
in pouring forth to each other, in writing, their inmost
thoughts. They composed poetry together, and began
writing a long romance. They indulged in the idea
that every human being has its twin soul, so that every
individual man or woman is but half a creature. The
other half, which is to complete the soul, is always to
be found somewhere on the earth. But rarely in this
life do they meet. It is usually in a future state only
that they find one another. Where could one find
any more full-blown romance? In this life these two
souls which had met could never be united, for circum-
stances had destroyed the possibility for them of true
union. Even if Sonya had still been free, yet she had
been married ; and he had consecrated himself to one
who was in future to be his only love.

Neither did Sonya feel it right to belong to any one
but her husband, for the bond which united her to him
had not been entirely dissolved. They still wrote to
each other occasionally. There was a possibility of
their meeting again, and she was still fond of him in
the depths of her heart.

So the intercourse between her and the Pole was
only that of a responsive interchange of thought, and an
abstract analysing of feeling. They used to sit oppo-
site each other and talk on without stopping; intoxi-
cating themselves with the increasing stream of words
so characteristic of the Slavonic race. But in the midst
of their visionary fervour, Sonya was crushed by a great
misfortune.

ADVENTURES. 49

Her husband had not been able to survive the dis-
covery that he had been shamefully cheated, and had
ruined his family. This highly gifted scientist, so
simple and unostentatious, who had never desired the
delights which wealth can bestow, was the victim of a
financial fraud under circumstances utterly opposed to
his character and to the tendencies of his whole life.

The news of his death stretched Sonya on a sick-bed.
She lay for a long time suffering from a dangerous
nervous fever. She arose again broken in spirit, with
the feeling that an irremediable sorrow had drawn a line
across her life.

She reproached herself deeply for not have remained
with her husband, even though by so doing she must
have doomed herself to an almost unbearable struggle.
She was agonised by the thought that nothing could
now retrieve the past.

During this illness the freshness of youth vanished.
She lost her clear complexion, and a deep furrow, never
more to be effaced, was drawn by care across her brow.

CHAPTER VI.

FIRST CALL TO SWEDEN.

DURING Sonya's stay in St. Petersburg in 1876,
she had made an acquaintance which was to have
a decisive influence on her future life. Mittag Leffler,
a pupil of Weierstrass, had heard a great deal of
Sonya's unusual talent from their mutual teacher, and
came to see her.

On this occasion Sonya had no premonition of the
influence he would afterwards exert on her life. She
only felt rather unwilling to receive her visitor when
he was announced. She had at that time given up all
studies, and did not even correspond with her former
master.

During the conversation, however, her former interests
were aroused. She showed so much acuteness of judg-
ment and quickness of perception in the most difficult
mathematical problems, that her visitor felt almost
confounded when he looked at the girlish face before
him. The impression she made on him as a woman-
thinker was so strong that several years later, when he
became professor of mathematics in the new Univer-
sity of Stockholm, one of his first steps was to induce

FIRST CALL TO SWEDEN. 51

the authorities to appoint " Fru " Kovalevsky as his
lecturer.

Sonya, a few years before her husband's death,
had expressed a wish to become a teacher at a uni-
versity. Professor Mittag Leffler, who was greatly
interested in the university recently established in his
native town, and who also took a warm interest in the
woman question, was eager to secure for his university
the glory of attracting to it the first great woman-
mathematician.

As early as 1881 Sonya wrote to Mittag Leffler,
then at Helsingfors, the following letter : —

BELLEVUESTRASSE, BERLIN, July 8, 1881.
" I thank you none the less for the interest you take
in my possible appointment to Stockholm, and for all
the trouble you have given yourself for this purpose. I
can assure you that, if a lectureship were offered to me, I
should accept it gratefully. I have never looked for any
other appointment than this, and I will even admit that I
should feel less bashful and shy, if I were only allowed
the possibility of applying my knowledge of the higher
branches of education. I may in this way open the
universities to women, which have hitherto only been
open by special favour — a favour which can be
denied at any moment, as has recently happened in
the German universities. Without being rich, I have
still the means of living independently. The question
of salary is, therefore, of no importance to me in
coming to a decision. What I wish, above all, is to
serve the cause in which I take so great an interest ;

52 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

and, at the same time, to be able to live for my
work, surrounded by those who are occupied with
the same questions ; — a piece of good fortune I
have never enjoyed in Russia, but only in Berlin.
These, dear Professor, are my personal feelings on
the subject, but I think I ought to tell you even

more. Professor W believes that, as far as he can

judge of Swedish matters, it is not possible for the
Stockholm University to accept a woman even as a
teacher. What is of still greater importance, he is
afraid that if you insist on introducing such novelties,
it may injure your own position. It would be selfish
of me if I did not let you know the opinion of our
beloved teacher. And you can easily understand how
unhappy I should be, if, after all, I injured you, who
have always shown so much interest in me, and helped
me so greatly ; you for whom I feel so sincere a
friendship. I believe it would be wiser, therefore, not
to do anything at present, but to wait till I have finished
the papers on which I am at present engaged. If I
succeed in completing them as well as I intend and
hope, it would in every way help towards the aim I
have in view."

It was after this that the dramatic episodes in Sonya's
life occurred : the separation from her husband ; the
Polish romance ; her husband's death and her long
illness.

All this delayed the completion of the papers men-
tioned in her letter, so that it was not until August,
1883, that she could inform Mittag Leffler that the

FIRST CALL TO SWEDEN 53

first of these was completed. She writes to him from
Odessa on August 28, 1883 : —

" I have at last succeeded in finishing one of the two
works on which I have been busy during the last twc
years. My first wish, as soon as I found it satisfactory,

was to let you know. But Herr W , with his usual

kindness, has taken that trouble, letting you know the
result of my researches. I have just received a letter
from him, saying that he had told you about it, and
that you have answered him with your usual kindness,
asking me to go to Stockholm, and to begin there a
course of private lessons. I cannot tell you how grate-
ful I am to you for the friendship you have always
shown me, and how happy I am to be able to enter
a career which has ever been the cherished object of my
desires. At the same time, I feel I ought to tell you
that in many respects I feel but little fitted for the
duties of a ' decent,' and at times I so much doubt my
own capacity that I feel you, who have always judged
me leniently, will be quite disillusioned when you find,
on nearer inspection, how little I am really good for.
I am truly grateful to Stockholm, which is the only
European university that will open its doors to me,
and I am already prepared to be in love with that city,
and to attach myself to Sweden as though it were my
native home. I hope that, if I do come there, it will
be to find a new ' foster-land.' But just because of
this, I should not care to go there before I feel pre-
pared to deserve the good opinion you have of me,
and to make a good impression. I have written to-day
to W to ask whether he does not think it would

54 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

be good for me to spend another two or three months
with him, in order to grasp his ideas better, and to fill
up the gaps which are still to be found in my mathe-
matical knowledge. These few months in Berlin would
also be useful to me, for I should then come into contact
with young mathematicians just beginning their career
as lecturers, many of whom I knew pretty well during
my last stay in Berlin. I could even arrange with them
that we should correspond on mathematical subjects.
I could then no doubt expound Abel's * Theory of
Functions,' which they do not know, and which I have
studied deeply. This would give me some opportunity
of lecturing, which, up to this time, I have never had.
Then I should arrive in Stockholm much more sure
of myself."

This plan was not realised, and on November nth
of the same year Sonya left St. Petersburg and started
for Stockholm via Hango.

CHAPTER VII.

ARRIVAL IN STOCKHOLM. FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

AS is natural, now that Sonya is dead, my first meeting
with her is vividly recalled to my mind, even in its
most minute details. She arrived from Finland in the
evening by boat, and came as a guest to my brother
Leffler's house. I went there the day after her arrival.
We were prepared to be friends, for we had heard
much of each other, and were eager to become
acquainted. Perhaps she had expected more from
the meeting than 1, for she felt a great interest in that
which was my special aim and object. I, on the other
hand, rather fancied that a woman-mathematician would
prove too abstract for me.

She was standing in the window when I arrived,
turning over the leaves of a book. Before she could
turn, I had time to see a serious and marked profile ;
rich chestnut hair arranged in a negligent plait, and a
spare figure with a certain graceful elegance in its pose,
but not well proportioned, for the bust and upper part
of the body were too small in comparison with the large
head. Her mouth was large and most expressive, her
lips full, fresh, and well curved. Her hands were small,

56 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

almost like a child's ; exquisitely modelled, but rather
spoiled by prominent blue veins. Her eyes were
the most remarkable feature of her face, and gave to
her countenance the look of lofty intellect which so
greatly impressed all who observed her. Their colour
was uncertain ; they varied from grey to green and
brown. Unusually large, prominent, and luminous,
they had an intensity of expression which seemed to
pierce the furthest corner of your soul when she fixed
her eyes upon you. But though so piercing they were
soft and loving, and full of responsive sympathy, which
seemed to woo those, on whom their magnetising power
rested, to tell her their inmost secrets. So great was
their charm, that one scarcely noticed their defect.
Sonya was so short-sighted, that when she was very
tired she often squinted.

She turned to me with a quick movement, and came
across the room to meet me with outstretched hands.
There was, however, a certain shyness about her which
made our greeting rather formal.

Our first conversation turned on the bad toothache
she had unfortunately suffered from during the voyage.
I offered to take her to the dentist. A pleasant object,
indeed, for her first walk in a new town ! She was,
however, the last person to bestow too much attention
or time on so trivial an incident.

I was at that moment thinking out the plot of my
play, entitled " How to Do Good," but had not yet
written it down. So great was Sonya's power of giving
an impetus to one's inner thoughts, that, before she had
reached the dentist's, I had told her the whole play,

ARRIVAL IN STOCKHOLM. 57

worked out in far greater detail and breadth than I was
conscious of.

This was the commencement of the great influence
she exercised later on my writings. Her power of
understanding and sympathising with the thoughts of
others was so exceptional, her praise when she was
pleased so warm and enthusiastic, her criticism so just,
that, for a receptive nature like mine, it was impossible
to work without her approbation.

If she criticised unfavourably anything I had written,
I rewrote it until she was pleased. This was the
commencement of our collaboration. She used to say
that I should never have written " Ideal Women " if
I had not done so before her arrival in Sweden. This
work, and my novel " At War with Society," were the
only books of mine that she disliked. She disapproved
of " Bertha's " struggle to try and secure the remnant
of her mother's fortune, for she considered that when
a woman has once given herself to a man, she must not
for a moment hesitate to sacrifice her fortune to the
very last farthing if he needs it. This criticism was so
like her ; she was always so subjective in her judgments
of literary work. If the thought and feeling in a
book were in accordance with her own sympathies, she
was prone to value it highly, even if it was only
mediocre. If, on the other hand, it contained any
opinion in which she did not share, she would not
admit that the book had any merit at all.

In spite of this prejudice, she was as broad in her
views as the most highly gifted individuals of her age.
Of the prejudices and conventionalities of ordinary

58 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

mortals she had not a trace. Her comprehensive
genius and her high culture raised her far above the
boundaries by which tradition limits most minds.

Limitations she found, but only in the strong indi-
viduality of her nature, the pronounced sympathies
and antipathies of which withstood both logic and
discussion.

On this first occasion we did not see much of each
other, and our acquaintance did not deepen into friend-
ship, for within a month of her arrival I went abroad
for some time. Before that, however, she had learned
enough Swedish to read my books. Immediately after
her arrival she began to take lessons in that language,
and for the first week she really did nothing but study
it from morning till night.

My brother, as soon as she arrived, told her that he
wanted to give a soiree in order to introduce her to all
his scientific friends. But she begged him to wait until
she could speak Swedish. This seemed to us rather
optimistic, but she kept her word. In a fortnight she
could speak a little, and during the first winter she had
mastered our literature, and had read Frithiof s Saga
with delight.

This unusual talent for languages had its limitations.
She used to say that she had no real talent that way,
and had only learned several languages from necessity
and ambition. It is quite true that, notwithstanding
the quick results she obtained when she first learned a
language, she never acquired it to perfection, and always
forgot one language as soon as she learned another.
Though she was in Germany when quite a young

ARRIVAL IN STOCKHOLM. 59

girl, she spoke the language very brokenly, and her
German friends used to laugh at the ridiculous and
often impossible words she coined. She never allowed
herself to be stopped in the flow of her conversation by
any such minor considerations as the correct choice of
words. She always spoke fluently, always succeeded in
expressing what she wanted to say, and in giving an
individual stamp to her utterances, however imperfectly
she spoke the language she was using. When she had
learned Swedish she had nearly forgotten all her German,
and when she had been away from Sweden a few months,
she spoke Swedish very badly on her return. One of
her characteristics was that when tired or depressed she
had great difficulty in finding words ; but when in
good spirits she spoke rapidly and with great elegance.
Language, like everything else with her, was under the
influence of her personal moods.

During the last autumn of her life, when she returned
from Italy — where she spent a couple of weeks, and fell
in love with that country, as every one who goes there
does — she spoke Italian fairly ; but on the other hand,
she spoke Swedish very badly, because she was out
of harmony with Sweden.

French was the foreign language she spoke best,
though she did not •write it quite correctly. It was
said that, in Russian, her style showed a certain foreign
influence.

She often complained that she could not speak
Russian with her intimate friends in Sweden. She used
to say, " I can never quite express the delicate nuances
of thought. I have always to content myself with the

60 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

next-best expression, or say what I want to say in a
roundabout way. I never find the exact expressions.
That is why, when I return to Russia, I feel released
from the prison in which my best thoughts were in
bondage. You cannot think what suffering it is to
have to speak always a foreign language to your friends.
You might as well wear a mask on your face."

In February, 1884, I went to London, and did not
meet Sonya again till the following October. While
in London I had only one letter from her. In it she
describes her winter at Stockholm. The letter has no
date, but it was evidently written in April, and, like
the former letters quoted, was in French.

" What shall I tell you about our life in Stockholm ? "
she says. " If it has not been very inhaltsreich, it has
at least been very lively, and lately very tiring. Suppers,
dinners, soirfos, and receptions, have succeeded each
other, and it has been difficult to find time to go to all
these parties, and also to prepare meantime my lectures,
or to work. To-day we have suspended our lectures
for the Easter fortnight, and I am as happy as a school-
girl at the prospect of a holiday. The ist of May is
not far distant, and then I hope to go to Berlin, via St.
Petersburg. My plans for next winter are still unde-
cided, as they do not depend upon me. As you can
easily imagine, people talk constantly about you. Every
one wants to hear about you. Your letters are read,
commented upon, and make quite a sensation. The
leading ladies of Stockholm seem to have very few sub-
jects of conversation, and it is really a charity to give
them something to talk about. I enjoy beforehand and

ARRIVAL IN STOCKHOLM. 61

yet tremble over the effect of your play when it is put
on the stage next autumn."

In April, Sonya finished her course of lectures, and
left for Russia. She writes as follows to Mittag
Leffler : —

"RussiA, April 29, 1884.

"... It seems a century since I left Stockholm. I
shall never be able to express or to show all the grati-
tude and friendship I feel for you. It is as if I had
found in Sweden a new foster-land and family at the
moment when I most needed them. . . ."

The course of lectures Sonya had given that year in
German at the University of Stockholm had been quite
private. The lectures had raised her greatly in public
estimation, and Mittag Leffler was enabled to collect
privately the funds necessary to give her an official
appointment, which was to last, in the first instance, for
five years. Several persons bound themselves to pay a
lump sum of about £ 1 1 2 a year. The University gave
about the same sum, so that Sonya had £225 a year.
Her pecuniary position was such that she could no
longer give her work gratis, as she had at first gener-
ously offered to do. But it was not only the pecuniary
question which had raised difficulties in the way of
her official appointment.

The conservative opposition which natually arose in
many directions against the employment of a woman as
a university professor had to be overcome. No other
university had set the example. The funds might
possibly have been found to furnish a life-appointment

62 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

But the considerations urged against such an appoint-
ment appearing to be insurmountable, Professor Leffler
decided to postpone the attempt till a more convenient
season. At the end of the first five years he succeeded
in obtaining for Sonya a life-appointment, which she
enjoyed just one year.

On July i, 1884, Mittag Leffler had the pleasure
of telegraphing to Sonya, who was then in Berlin, that
she had been appointed professor for five years. She
answered the same day in the following terms : —

" BERLIN, July i, i
"... I need hardly tell you that your and Ugglas'
telegrams have filled my heart with joy. I may now
confess that up to the last moment, I believed and feared
that the matter could not be carried through. I thought
that at the critical moment some unexpected difficulty
would arise, and that all our plans would come to
nothing. I am also sure that it is only owing to your
perseverance and energy that we have been able to attain
our end. I only hope that I may have the strength
and capacity requisite for my duties, and to help you in
all your undertakings. I firmly believe in my future,
and shall be glad to work with you. What joy and
happiness it is that we met ! " . . .

Further on she says : " W has spoken to several

officials here about my wish to attend lectures. It is
possible that the thing may be arranged, but not this
summer, as the present Rector is a decided opponent of
woman's rights. I hope, however, it may be arranged

ARRIVAL IN STOCKHOLM. 63

by December, when I return to spend my Christmas
holidays here."

The University at Stockholm had already appointed
Fru Kovalevsky professor, while in Germany it was
still impossible for her, as a woman, to attend even
lectures.

Another person might have been somewhat perturbed
by the uncertainty of the appointment she now accepted.
But the future never harassed Sonya. If the present
were satisfactory, that was all she required. She was
ready at any moment to sacrifice a brilliant future if by
doing so she could secure a happier and fuller present.

Before going to Berlin, Sonya had paid a visit to
her little daughter, who was living with the friend of
Sonya's youth in Moscow. Thence she wrote a letter
to Mittag Leffler, which may be taken as an exposition
of her ideas of a mother's duty, and which describes
the conflict between her duties as a mother and as an
official personage ; as a woman, and as a bread-winner.

"Moscow, June 3, 1884.

" I have had a long letter from T , in which she

expresses a warm wish that I should bring my little girl
with me to Stockholm. But, in spite of all the con-
siderations which might incline me to have my little
Sonya with me, I have almost decided to let her spend
another winter in Moscow. I do not think it would
be in the child's interest to take her away from this
place, where she is well cared for, and to carry her back
with me to Stockholm, where nothing is prepared for
her, and where I shall have to devote my whole time

64 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

and energy to my new duties. T says, among

other things, that many people will accuse me of in-
difference to my child. I suppose that is quite possible,
but I confess that I do not care in the least for that
argument. I am quite willing to submit to the judg-
ment of the Stockholm ladies in all that has to do
with the minor details of life ; but in serious questions,
especially when I do not act in my own interests but in
those of my child, I consider it would be unpardonable
weakness on my part were I to let the shadow of a wish
to play the part of a good mother in the eyes of Stock-
holm petticoats, influence me in the least."

On her return to Sweden, in September, Sonya went
to Sodertelje for a few weeks, in order to finish in peace
the work commenced so long ago, " Ljusets brytning
in ett kristalliniskt medium" Mittag Leffler and a
young German mathematician, whose acquaintance Sonya
had made at Berlin during the summer, were with her
at Sodertelje, and the young mathematician assisted her
by correcting her German.

On my first visit to her on my return from England,
I was astonished to find her looking younger and
handsomer. I at first thought it was the effect of her
having left off her mourning, for black was very un-
becoming to her, and she herself hated it. The light-
blue summer dress she was now wearing made her com-
plexion look brighter, and she also wore her rich
chestnut hair in curls. But it was not only her out-
ward appearance which was changed. I soon noticed
that the melancholy which had enveloped her during
her former sojourn in Stockholm had given place to

ARRIVAL IN STOCKHOLM. 65

sparkling gaiety, a side of her character which I now
for the first time learned to know. She was in such a
gay mood, sparkling with joy, dancing with life ; a
shower of wit, half satirical, half good-natured, sparkled
round her. One daring paradox followed another, and
it was well for any one not quick at repartee to keep
silence on such occasions, for she did not give people
much chance of retort.

She was, at this time, occupied with preparing her
lectures for the new term. These she read to the young
German mathematician, saying sportingly that he must
be her " pointer," a role which otherwise fell to Mittag
Leffler.

Sonya's bright mood lasted through the autumn. She
led a social life, and was everywhere the centre of a
magic circle. The strong satirical vein in her character
and the deep contempt she felt for mediocrity (she
belonged to the haute noblesse of the intellectual world,
and worshipped genius) was, in her, wedded to a poet's
ready sympathy with all human conflicts and troubles,
however unimportant they might be.

This made her take a lively interest in everything
that concerned her friends. All the household worries
of her married friends were confided to her, and young
girls asked her advice about their dress, etc. The
usual verdict passed upon her by those who knew her
was that she was simple and unpretentious as a school-
girl, and in no way thought herself above other women.

But, as I have already said, this was not a true
estimate of her character, just as the impression of
frankness and affability given by her manners was

6

66 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

delusive. She was in reality reserved, and she con-
sidered few people her equals. But the mobility of her
nature and intelligence, the wish to please, and the
psychological interest which as an author she took in
all human things, gave her the sympathetic manner which
charmed all who saw her. She seldom displayed her
sarcastic vein to her inferiors unless they were really
uncongenial to her. But she used it freely amongst
those whom she looked upon as her equals.

Meanwhile it did not take her long to exhaust the
social interest in Stockholm. After a time she said she
knew every one by heart and longed for fresh stimulus
for her intelligence. This was a great misfortune to
her, and accounts for the fact that she could not be
happy in Stockholm, nor, perhaps, in any place in the
world. She was continually in want of stimulus. She
desired dramatic interests in life, and was ever seeking
after high-wrought mental delights. She hated with all
her heart the grey monotony of everyday life.

Bohemian by nature, as she often called herself, she
hated the virtues generally described as "bourgeois."
She herself attributed this trait in her character to her
descent from a gipsy woman who, I believe, married
her father's grandfather — a marriage by which that
gentleman forfeited his title of " prince," then possessed
by the family.

All this was not only a peculiarity of temperament in
Sonya ; it underlay her intellectual nature. Her talents
were of the productive order, and at the same time she
was very receptive by nature, and required stimulus
from the genius of others in order to do productive
work herself.

ARRIVAL IN STOCKHOLM. 67

This is the reason why her whole scientific career was
occupied solely with the development of the ideas of her
great teacher. In literature she absolutely required an
interchange of ideas with persons similarly occupied.

With such a substratum underlying her whole character
and intelligence, it was only natural that life in such a
small town as Stockholm should be altogether mono-
tonous to her. She could only really live in the great
European capitals. There and there only could she
find the mental stimulus she needed.

She spent the Christmas of 1884 in Berlin. On
her return thence she made use, for the first time, of
the expression she afterwards used every year, and
which so wounded and hurt her friends. " The road
from Stockholm to Malmo," she said, " is the most
beautiful line I have ever seen ; but the road from
Malmo to Stockholm is the ugliest, dullest, and most
tiresome."

My heart bleeds when I think how often she had to
take that journey with an ever-growing bitterness in
her heart which at last brought her to an early grave.

A letter to my brother, written from Berlin during
that Christmas, shows how deeply melancholy her
mood really was, despite all outward show of cheer-
fulness. Her friends have told me that she was
happier and more joyous during that Christmas than
they had ever seen her. She regretted that during
her real youth she had neglected youth's pleasures, and
she now wanted to avenge herself, and began to take
lessons in dancing and skating. She did not wish to
expose her first awkward attempts at skating, so one of

68 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

her friends and admirers arranged a private skating-
ground for her in the garden of one of the Berlin
villas. Her lessons in dancing were also taken in a
similarly private fashion, with two admirers as cavaliers.

She rushed from one entertainment to another, and
was much feted, an experience she always enjoyed.

But this happy mood was short-lived. A month
later it had been chased away by the news of hei
sister's illness, and by a love-affair, which, as usual
with her, took no happy turn. The latter caused
both her supreme joyousness and the deep despondency
which followed it.

She writes on December 27, 1884 : "I feel in very
low spirits. I have had very bad news from my sister.
Her illness makes terrible progress, and now it is her
sight which is affected. She can neither read nor write.
This is caused by the faulty action of her heart, which
gives rise to clots of blood and paralysis. I tremble at
the thought of the loss which awaits me in the near
future. How sad life is after all ! and how dull it is
to go on living ! It is my birthday,1 and I am thirty-
one to-day. It is terrible to think I may perhaps
have as many years still to live ! How beautiful it
is in dramas and novels ! As soon as any one has
found out that life is not worth living, some one or
something comes on the scene and helps to make the
passage to the ' other side ' easy. Reality is in this
detail inferior to fiction. One hears much of the
perfection of the organisms as developed by living

1 This is a fiction, for it was neither her birthday, nor was she
the age mentioned : see Introduction.

ARRIVAL IN STOCKHOLM. 69

creatures through the process of natural selection. I
think that the highest perfection would be the power
to die quickly and easily. In this matter man has cer-
tainly degenerated. Insects and the lower animals can
never choose to die. An articulated animal can suffer
unheard-of tortures without ceasing to exist. But the
higher you rise in the animal scale, the easier life's
transit. In a bird, a wild animal, a lion or a tiger,
almost every illness is fatal. They have either the full
enjoyment of life — or else death, but no suffering. Man
in this particular is more like an insect. Many of my
acquaintances make me involuntarily think of insects
whose wings have been torn off, their bodies crushed,
or their legs injured. Yet, poor things, they cannot
decide to die. Forgive me for writing to you in such
low spirits. I really am in a very gloomy mood. I
feel no desire to work. I have not yet been able to
settle down to prepare my lectures for the next term.
But I have pondered much over the following problem."
(And here a mathematical working is given.)

I again quote the same letter : " I have received
from your sister, as a Christmas present, an article
by Strindberg, in which he proves, as decidedly as that
two and two make four, what a monstrosity a woman
professor of mathematics is, and how unnecessary, in-
jurious, and out of place she is. I think he is right au
fond. The only remark I protest against is, that there
were plenty of mathematicians in Sweden better than I
am, and that it was only chivalry which made them
select me ! "

CHAPTER VIII.

PASTIMES.

AMONG the crowd of skaters who that winter
frequented the Nybroviken and the royal skating-
ground at Skeppsholmen, a little short-sighted lady,
clad in a tight-fitting fur-trimmed costume, her hands
tucked into a muff, might be seen daily trying, with
small uncertain steps, to move along on her skates. She
was accompanied by a tall gentleman wearing spectacles,
and a tall, slight lady, and none of them seemed very
steady on their feet. While staggering along together
they kept up a lively conversation, and sometimes the
gentleman would draw a geometrical figure on the ice,
not indeed with his skates — not being dexterous enough
for that — but with his stick. The little lady would
then instantly pause and study the figure intently. The
two had come together from the University to the
skating-ground, and were generally engaged in hot
discussion arising from a lecture which one or the
other had just given ; a discussion which was usually
continued after reaching the ground.

Sometimes the little lady would cry mercy, and beg
to be excused from talking mathematics while skating,

PASTIMES. 71

as it made her lose her balance. At another time she
and the tall lady would engage in talk on psychological
topics, or communicate to each other some plot for
a novel or drama. They even argued and sparred
about their respective proficiency in the art of skating.
In any other occupation they willingly admitted each
other's superiority, but not in this.

Any one who met Madame Kovalevsky in society
that winter might have imagined she was a very pro-
ficient skater ; one who could have carried off the
prize in a tournament with the greatest ease. She
spoke of the sport with great eagerness and interest,
and was very proud of the smallest progress she made,
though she had never shown any such vanity about the
works which had brought her world- wide renown.

Even in the riding-school she and her tall companion
might often be seen that winter, and it was evident
they took great interest in each other's accomplishments.
The celebrated Madame Kovalevsky was naturally much
noticed wherever she made her appearance, but no little
schoolgirl could have behaved more childishly than she
did at her riding or skating lessons. Her taste for
such sports was not seconded by the least facility for
them. She was scarcely in the saddle, for instance, than
she was overcome with fear. She would scream if her
horse made the least unexpected movement. She
always begged for the quietest and soberest animal in
the stables. But she would afterwards explain why
that day's riding-lesson had been a failure, alleging
either that the horse had been fidgety or wild, or that
the saddle had been uncomfortable. She never got

72 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

beyond a ten minutes' trot, and, if the horse broke
into a good pace, she would call to the riding-master
in broken Swedish, " Please, good sir, make the horse
stop ! "

She bore with great amiability all the teasing of her
friends on this account, but when she talked to other
people about the matter, they easily went off with the
idea that she was an accomplished horsewoman who
could boldly ride the wildest animal at a gallop. All
this was no boasting ; she thoroughly believed in it.
She always intended to do something wonderful each
time she went to the riding-school, and was continually
proposing riding tours. Her explanation of her over-
whelming fear when once mounted was, that it was
not real fright, but only nervousness, which made her
sensitive to every noise, so that the footsteps of the
other horses upset her composure. Her friends often
could not resist asking her what kind of noise it was
that, when out walking, made her jump over hedges
and ditches to avoid a harmless cow, or run away from
a dog that merely sniffed at her.

She describes this kind of cowardice very well in an
otherwise great character in her posthumous novel,
" Vera Verontzoff" :-

" In the learned circle in which he lived no one
would have dreamt of suspecting him of cowardice.
On the contrary, all his colleagues dreaded lest his
courage should lead him into difficulties. In his own
heart he knew himself to be far from courageous. But
in his day-dreams he loved to imagine himself amid
the most dangerous circumstances. More than once,

PASTIMES. 73

in the silence of his quiet study, he had fancied himself
storming a barricade. In spite of this, he kept at a
respectful distance from village curs, and declined to
make any near acquaintance with horned cattle."

Sonya perhaps exaggerated her fear out of coquetry.
She possessed to a high degree that feminine grace so
highly appreciated by men. She loved to be protected.

To energy and genius truly masculine, and to a
character in some ways inflexible, she united a very
feminine helplessness. She never learned her way
about Stockholm. She only knew perfectly a few
streets, those which led to the University or to the
houses of her intimate friends. She could neither look
after her money matters, her house, nor her child. The
latter she was obliged to leave in the care of others. In
fact, she was so unpractical that all the minor details
of life were a burden to her. When she was obliged
to seek paid work, to apply to an editor or to get
introductions, she was incapable of looking after her
own interests. But she never failed to find some
devoted friend who made her interest his own, and on
whom she could throw all the burden of her affairs.

At every railway station where she stopped on her
many journeys, some one was always waiting to receive
her, to procure rooms for her, to show her the way, or
to place his services at her disposal. It was such a
delight to her to be thus assisted and cared for in trifles
that, as I said before, she rather liked to exaggerate her
fears and helplessness. Notwithstanding all this, there
was never a woman who, in the deepest sense of the
word, could be more independent of others.

74 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

In a letter written in German to the admirer who
had taught her to dance and skate, Sonya describes her
life in Stockholm during the winter of 1884-85.

"STOCKHOLM, April^ 1885.

" DEAR MR. H., — I am ashamed that I have not
answered your kind letter sooner. My only excuse is
the multifarious occupations which have filled up my
time. I will tell you all I have been doing. To
begin with there are my lectures three times a week
in Swedish. I read and study the algebraic introduc-
tion to the theory of ' Abel's Functions,' and in
Germany these lectures are supposed to be the most
difficult. I have a pretty large number of students, all
of whom I retain, with the exception of at most two
or three who have withdrawn. Secondly, I have been
writing a short mathematical treatise, which I shall
send to Weierstrass immediately, asking him to get
it published in Borchardt's Journal. Thirdly, I and
Mittag Leffler have begun a large mathematical work.
We hope to get a great deal of pleasure and fame
out of it — this is a secret at present, so do not yet
mention it. Fourthly, I have made the acquaintance
of a very pleasant man, who has recently returned to
Stockholm from America. He is the editor of the
largest Swedish newspaper. He has made me promise
to write something for his paper, and, so [you know,1
/ can never see my friends at work without wishing to
do exactly what they are doing], I have written a number

The italics have been added by the friend who sends the letter.

PASTIMES. 75

of short articles I for him. For the moment I have
only one of these personal reminiscences ready, but I
send it to you, as you understand Swedish so well.
Fifthly (last, not least), can you really believe, unlikely
as it sounds, that I have developed into an accom-
plished skater ! At the end of last week I was on
the ice every day. I am so sorry you cannot see how
well I manage now. Whenever I gain a little extra
dexterity I think of you. And now I can even
skate a little backwards ! ! But I can go forward with
great facility and assurance ! ! All my friends here are
astonished how quickly I have mastered the difficult
art. In order to console myself a little, now that the
ice has disappeared, I have taken furiously to riding
with my friend. In the few weeks of the Easter
holidays I intend to ride at least an hour every day. I
like riding very much. I really don't know which I
like best, skating or riding. But this is by no means
the end of all my frivolities. There is to be a great
fete on April I5th. It is a kind of fair or bazaar, and
seems to be a very Swedish affair. A hundred of us
ladies will dress in costume, and sell all sorts of things
for the benefit of a Folk's Museum. I am, of course,
going to be a gipsy, and equally of course a great guy.
I have asked five other young ladies to share my fate
and help me. We are to be a gipsy troop, with tents,
and our ' marshals,' also in the costume of gipsy
youths, will assist us. We are likewise to have a
Russian samovar, and to serve tea from it.

1 She had in reality only written one of the articles, but in her vivid
imagination what she intended doing was already done.

76 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

" Now what do you say to all this nonsense, dear
Mr. H. ? This evening I am going to have a grand
party in my own little room, the first I have given since
I have been in Stockholm."

In the spring of the year there was a suggestion
made that Sonya should lecture on mechanics during
the illness of Professor Holmgrens.

She wrote on this subject to Professor Mittag Leffler,
who had then left Stockholm :

" STOCKHOLM, June 3rd.

" I have been to Lindhagen, who told me that the
authorities of the University are of opinion that I ought
to be Professor Holmgren's substitute. But they do
not wish this mentioned, as it might have a bad effect
on Holmgren. He is really very ill, but does not yet
seem to realise the fact. I replied to Lindhagen that I
felt that this was quite fair, and that I am satisfied to
know that the authorities think I should be Holmgren's
locum tenens in case he is not able to give his autumn
lectures. But if, contrary to present expectations, he
should have recovered before then, I should be so
pleased with the happy turn of events, that I should not
regret the work I should thus have missed. I am much
pleased, my dear friend, that things have turned out so
well, and I shall do my best to make my lectures as
good as possible. Stories with a moral are always tire-
some in books, but they are very encouraging and
edifying when they occur in real life ; so I am doubly
pleased that my motto, 'pas trap de zele, has been
refuted in so brilliant and unexpected a manner. I do

PASTIMES. 77

hope you will have no reason to reproach me with losing
courage. You must never forget, dear friend, that I
am Russian. When a Swedish woman is tired, or in a
bad humour, she is silent and sulky. Of course, the
ill-humour strikes inwards and becomes a chronic
complaint. A Russian bemoans and bewails herself so
much that it affects her mentally as a catarrh affects her
physically. For the rest I must say that I only bemoan
and bewail when I am slightly unhappy. When I am
in great distress, then I too am silent. No one can
notice my distress. I may sometimes have reproached
you with being too optimistic, but I would not have
you cure yourself of this on any account. The fault
suits you to perfection, and, besides, the most striking
proof of your optimism is the good opinion you have
of me. You can easily understand that I should like
you to be right in this detail."

Shortly after this, Sonya went to Russia to spend the
summer, partly in St. Petersburg with her invalid sister,
and partly in the environs of Moscow with her friend
and her little girl.

I here quote from a few letters written thence. They
are not very full of interest, as she was not fond of
writing. Our correspondence, therefore, was not lively,
but her letters always contained fragments of her life-
history. They are often, even in their brevity, cha-
racteristic of the mood which possessed her while
writing them. They are thus of much value in de-
picting her character.

I was in Switzerland with my brother, and had

78 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

invited her to meet us there, when I received the
following letter : —

"Mr DEAR ANN CHARLOTTE, — I have just received
your kind letter. You cannot imagine how I should
like to start at once to meet you and your brother in
Switzerland, and go on a walking tour with you to the
highest parts of the Alps ! I have a sufficiently lively
imagination to enable me to picture how charming this
would be. What happy weeks we might spend to-
gether ! Unfortunately I am kept here by a whole
string of reasons ; the one more stupid and tiresome
than the other. To begin with, I have promised to
stay here till August ist, and though I am, in principle,
of the opinion that ' man is master of his word,' the
old prejudices are so strong in me that I always return
to them when I have a chance of realising my theories.
Instead of the ' master, I also am the slave of my
word. Besides, there are a whole host of things which
keep me here. Your brother (who knows me au fond
and judges me rightly — only you must not tell him so
for fear of flattering his vanity too much) has often
said that I am very impressionable, and that it is always
the duties and impressions of the moment which deter-
mine my actions. In Stockholm, where every one
treats me as the champion of the woman-question, I
begin to think it is my most important obligation to
develop and cultivate my 'genius.' But I must humbly
admit that here \ am always introduced to new ac-
quaintances as ' FoujTs Mama,' 1 and you cannot
1 Sonya was staying at this nme near Moscow with the friend
who had charge of her little girl.

PASTIMES. 79

imagine what an effect this has in diminishing my
vanity. It calls forth in me a perfect crop of genuine
virtues, which spring up like mushrooms, and of which
you would never suppose me capable. Add to this
the heat which softens my brain, and you can then
picture what I am like at this moment. In a word,
the result is that all the small influences and forces
which dominate your poor friend are strong enough to
keep me there till August ist. The only thing I can
hope for is to meet you in Normandy, and to go on
with your brother to Aberdeen. Write soon to me,
dear Ann Charlotte. How happy you are ! You
cannot imagine how I envy you. Do at least write to
me. I shall do my best to join you in Normandy.
B ten a tot. "So NY A."

As usual, there is no date to her letters, but at about
the same time she wrote to my brother : —

"CHER MONSIEUR, — I have received your kind letter,
No. 8, and I hasten to answer ; though I have little or
nothing to tell you ; our life is monotonous to that
degree that I lose the power, not only of working, but
of caring for anything. I feel that if this lasts much
longer I shall become a vegetable. It is really curious,
the less you have to do the less you are able to work.
Here I do absolutely nothing. I sit all day long with my
embroidery in my hand, but without an idea in my head.
The heat begins to be stifling. After the rain which we
had at first, the summer has set in quite hot, a regular
Russian summer. You could boil eggs in the shade ! "

8o SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

To her friend Mr. H., in Berlin, she also writes an
amusing account of her life that summer.

" I am now staying with my friend, Julia L., on a
small estate of hers in the neighbourhood of Moscow.
I have found my daughter bright and well. I do not
know which of us has been happiest in the reunion.
We are not going to be separated any more, for I am
going to take her back with me to Stockholm. She is
nearly six, and is a very sensible child for her age.
Every one thinks she is like me, and I really think she
is like what I was in my childhood. My friend is very
depressed ; she has just lost her only sister, so it is
at present rather dull and dismal in this house. Our
circle of acquaintances consists entirely of old ladies.
Four old maids live with us, and as they all go about
in deep mourning our house seems almost like a con-
vent. We also eat a great deal, as people do in
convents ; and four times a day we drink tea, with all
sorts of jams, sweetmeats, and cakes — which helps us to
get through the time nicely. I try to make a little
diversion in other ways. For instance, one day I asked
Julia to go with me to the next village without the
coachman, persuading her that I could drive beautifully.
We arrived safely at our destination. But coming home
the horses shied, came into collision with a tree, and
we were thrown into a ditch ! Poor Julia injured
her foot, but I, the criminal, escaped unhurt from the
adventure."

A little later Sonya wrote to the same friend : —

" Our life here continues to be so monotonous that I
have nothing to say beyond thanking you for your

PASTIMES. 81

letter. I have not even thrown any one out of a
carriage lately, and life flows tranquilly as the water in
the pond which adorns our garden. Even my brain
seems to stand still. I sit with my work in my hand
and absolutely think of nothing."

In connection with this, it is worth while referring to
the extraordinary power Sonya had of being completely
idle when not engaged in actual work. She often
said she was never half so happy as during these periods
of entire laziness, when it was an effort to rise from
the chair into which she had sunk. At such times the
most trivial novel, the most mechanical needlework, a
few cigarettes, and some tea, were all she required. It
was probably very lucky for her that she had this
capacity for reaction against excessive brain-work and
the incessant mental excitement to which she sur-
rendered herself between whiles. Perhaps it was the
result of her Russo-German lineage, each race by turns
getting the upper hand and causing these sudden
changes. Nothing came of all her projected travels.
Sonya spent that whole summer in Russia, and it was
not until September that we met in Stockholm.

CHAPTER IX.

CHANGING MOODS.

DURING the following winter the sentimental
element began to play a great part in Sonya's
life. She found nothing to satisfy and interest her
in her social surroundings. She was not engaged on
any special literary work. Her lectures failed to
interest her much. Under these circumstances she
was very often apt to become too introspective ;
brooded over her destiny ; and felt bitterly that life
had not afforded her what she most desired.

She no longer talked of "twin-souls," or of
a single love which would rule her whole life, but,
instead, dreamt of a union between man and wife in
which the intelligence of the one was the complement
to that of the other, so that together only could they
realise the full development of their genius.

" Labouring together in love " was now her ideal,
and she dreamt of finding a man who could, in this
sense, become her second self. The certainty that she
could never find that man in Sweden was the real origin
of the dislike which she now took to this country — the
land to which she had come with such hope and expec-

CHANGING MOODS. 83

tation. This idea of collaboration was based on her
secret craving to be in spiritual partnership with another
human being, and on the real suffering caused by her
intellectual isolation. She could scarcely endure to
work without having some one near her who breathed
the same mental atmosphere as herself.

Work in itself — the absolute search after scientific
truth — did not satisfy her. She longed to be under-
stood, met halfway, admired and encouraged at every
step she took. As each new idea sprang up in her
brain she longed to convey it to some one else, to
enrich with it another human being. It was not only
humanity in the abstract, but some definite human
being that she required ; some one who in return would
share with her a creation of his own.

Mathematician as she was, abstractions were not for
her, for she was intensely personal in all her thoughts
and judgments.

Mittag Leffler often told her that her love of and
desire for sympathy was a feminine weakness. Men
of great genius had never been dependent in this way
on others. But she asserted the contrary, enumerating
a number of instances in which men had found their
best inspiration in their love for a woman. Most of
these were poets. Among scientists it was more
difficult to prove her statement, but Sonya was never
short of arguments to demonstrate her assertions. She
put a clever construction upon facts which were not in
themselves clear enough to support her. It is true that
she succeeded in quoting several instances which went
far to prove that a feeling of great isolation had been

84 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

the cause of intense suffering to all profound minds. She
pointed out how this great curse of isolation rested on
man. He whose highest happiness it is to merge his
own in another's being nevertheless must in the inner-
most soul ever be alone.

I remember that the spring of 1886 was a specially
trying one for Sonya. The awakening of nature —
the restlessness and growth, which she depicted so
vividly in " Vae Victis," and later in " Vera Veront-
zoff," exercised a strong influence upon her, and made
her restless and nervous, full of longing and impatience.

The light summer nights, so dear to me, only ener-
vated Sonya. " The everlasting sunshine seems to
promise so much," she would say, " but fails to fulfil
the promise. Earth remains cold — development is
retarded just when it has commenced. The summer
seems like a mirage — a will-o'-the-wisp which you
cannot overtake. The fact that the long days and
light nights begin so long before full summer comes
is all the more irritating, because they seem to promise
a joy they can never fulfil."

Sonya could not work, but she maintained with more
and more eagerness that work, especially scientific work,
was no good ; it could neither afford pleasure nor cause
humanity to progress. It was folly to waste one's
youth on work, and especially was it unfortunate for
a woman to be scientifically gifted, for she was thus
drawn into a sphere which could never afford her
happiness.

As soon as the term ended that year, Sonya hastened
on " the short and beautiful journey from Stockholm "

CHANGING MOODS. 85

to Malmo, and thence to the Continent. She went to
Paris, and wrote thence only one letter to me. Con-
trary to her custom, it is dated.

" 142, BOULEVARD D'£NFER, June 26, 1886.
" DEAR ANN CHARLOTTE, — I have just received
your letter. I reproach myself very much that I
have not written to you before. I am ready to
admit that I was a little jealous, and thought you
no longer cared for me. I have only time for a
few lines — if my letter is to be in time for to-day's
post — to tell you that you are quite wrong in reproach-
ing me for forgetting you when I am away. I have
never felt so much how I love you and your brother.
Every time I am pleased, I unconsciously think of you.
I enjoy myself very much in Paris. Mathematicians
and others make much of me (font grand cas de moi], but
I long intensely to see the good-for-nothing brother and
sister who are quite indispensable to my life. I cannot
leave this before July 5th, and cannot get to Christiania
in time for the Natural Science Congress.1 Can you
meet me (in Copenhagen) so that we may go home
together ? Please reply at once. I have taken your
book - to Jonas Lie. He speaks of you very kindly.
He has returned my call, but had not yet read your
book. He also thinks you have more talent for novel
writing than for the drama. I hope to see Jonas Lie
once more before I leave. I send you my love and

1 We had intended to meet in Norway and spend the rest
of the summer together.

2 "A Summer Saga."

86 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

long to see you again, my dear Ann Charlotte. Tout
a toi. " SONYA."

As usual, Sonya could not tear herself away from
Paris till the last minute. She arrived at Copenhagen
on the last day of the Congress. I was accustomed to
her sudden changes of mood, but this time the contrast
was amazing between the mood she was now in and
that which had ruled her during the whole of the spring,
when she was in Stockholm.

In Paris she had associated with Poincare and
other mathematicians. While in conversation with
them she had felt a desire awaken within her to occupy
herself with problems the solution of which was to
bring her the highest fame, and to gain for her the
highest prize of the French Academy of Science.

It now seemed to her that nothing was worth Jiving
for but science. Everything else — personal happiness,
love, and love of nature — day dreaming, all were vain.
The search after scientific truth was now to her the
highest and most desirable of things. Interchange of
ideas with her intellectual peers, apart from any personal
tie, was the loftiest of all intercourse. The joy of
creation was upon her ; and now she entered one of
those brilliant periods of her life, when she was hand-
some, full of genius, sparkling with wit and humour.

She arrived at Christiania at night, after three days'
voyage from Havre. She had been very sea-sick all the
time, but this did not prevent her — indefatigable as
she always was when in good spirits — from joining the
next day in a fete and picnic which lasted far into the

CHANGING MOODS. 87

night . All the most distinguished men present thronged
around her, and she was always on such occasions most
amiable and HBMStufling ; so girlishly gentle in her
manner that she took every one by storm.

We afterwards made a trip together through Tele-
marken, where we visited Ullman's Peasant High School,
in which Sonya became warmly interested. It was this
visit that gave rise to the article on Peasant High
Schools which she published in a Russian magazine.
The success of the article was so great that it
brought a large increase in the number of subscribers
to the journal.

From Siljord we walked up a mountain, and it
was certainly the first time that Sonya had ever done
any mountaineering. She was brisk and indefatigable
in climbing, and was delighted with the beauty of nature.
She was full of joy and energy, her pleasure being only
now and then marred by fear of the cows near a
safer, or by the loose stones we had to climb over,
when she uttered little childish shrieks and exclamations
which much amused the rest of the party. She had a
true appreciation of nature in so far as her imagination
and feelings were stirred by its poetry, by the spirit of
the scenery, and its light and shadow. But as she was
very near-sighted, and objected, out of feminine vanity,
to wearing spectacles, the traditional mark of a blue
stocking, she never could see any details of the land-
scape, and certainly would not have been able to tell
what sort of trees or crops she had passed, or how
the houses were built, &c. Notwithstanding this, in
some of her works already mentioned she succeeds not

88 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

only in giving the spirit of the scenery, its soul, so to
?aV, but also exact ird delicate descriptions of purely
material details. This she did, not uvrr1 her own obser-
vation, but from purely theoretical knowledge. She had
a very sound knowledge of natural history. She had
helped her husband to translate Brehm's " Birds," and,
as already mentioned, had studied paleontology and
geology with him, and had been personally acquainted
with the most eminent scientists of our time.

But she was not a very minute observer when it con-
cerned the small commonplace phenomena of nature.
She had no love of detail, and did not possess a finely
cultivated sense of beauty. The most unattractive
landscape might be beautiful in her eyes if it suited
her mood. And she could be indifferent to the most
exquisite outlines and colours if she were personally out
of sympathy with the scene.

It was the same with the personal appearance of
people. She was utterly devoid of all appreciation of
purity of outline, harmony, proportion, complexion, and
other outward requirements of beauty. People with
whom she was in sympathy, and who possessed some of
the external qualities she admired — these she considered
beautiful, and all others plain. A fair person, man or
woman, she could easily admire, but not a dark person.

In this connection I cannot help mentioning the
absence of all artistic appreciation in a nature otherwise
so richly gifted. She had spent years of her life in
Paris, but had never visited the Louvre. Neither
pictures, sculptures, nor architecture ever attracted her
attention.

CHANGING MOODS. 89

In spite of this, she was much pleased with Norway,
and liked the people we met. We had intended to con-
tinue our trip in a cariole through the whole of Tele-
marken, over Haukeli Fjall, and thence down to the
west coast, where we meant to visit Alexander Kielland
in Jaderen. But although Sonya had long dreamt
about this journey, and was pleased with it; and though
she had for some time desired to make Kielland's
acquaintance, another voice was now so strong within
her that she could not resist it. So while we were on a
steamer in one of the long inland lakes which run up
into Telemarken, and which resemble fjords cut off from
the sea, she suddenly decided to go back to Christiania
and Sweden, and settle down quietly in the country to
work. She left me, stepped into another steamer, and
was taken by it back to Christiania by way of Skien.

I could not remonstrate with her, nor did I blame
her. I knew so well that when once the creative spirit
makes its "must" heard, its voice will be obeyed.
Everything else, however otherwise attractive, becomes
insignificant and unimportant. One is deaf and blind
to one's surroundings, and one listens only to the inner
voice — which calls more loudly than the roaring water-
fall, or the hurricane at sea. Sonya's departure was, of
course, a great disappointment to me. I continued the
journey with a chance companion ; visited Kielland ;
returned eastwards and took part in a fete at Sagatun's
Peasant High School which would certainly have
pleased Sonya as much as it did me, had she been
mentally at liberty.

I had several times noticed this trait in her. She

90 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

might be engaged in the most lively conversation at
a picnic or party, and apparently be entirely occupied
by her surroundings, when suddenly a silence would fall
upon her. Her look at such times became distant, and
her replies, when addressed, wandering. She would
suddenly say farewell, and no persuasions, no previous
plans or arrangements, no consideration for others
could detain her. Go home and work she must.
I have a note from her written in the spring of
the year which is characteristic of her in this con-
nection.

We had arranged a driving expedition in the neigh-
bourhood of Stockholm with a few other friends, when
she repented at the last moment, and sent me the
following note J : —

" DEAR ANNA CHARLOTTE, — This morning I awoke
with the desire to amuse myself, when suddenly my
mother's father, the German pedant (that is to say the
astronomer}, appeared before me. He drew forth all
the learned treatises and dissertations which I had in-
tended studying in the Easter holidays, and reproached
me most seriously for wasting my time so foolishly.
His severe words put the gipsy grandmother in me
to flight. Now I sit at my writing-table in dressing-
gown and slippers, deeply immersed in mathema-
tical study, and I have not the slightest desire to
join your picnic. You are so merry that you
can amuse yourselves just as well without me, so

1 This note is written in Swedish, as are all the other letters
which follow unless otherwise indicated.

CHANGING MOODS. 91

I hope you will enjoy yourselves, and pardon my
ignoble desertion.

" Yours affectionately,

"SONYA."

There had been an arrangement that we should meet
again in Jamtland later in the summer, where Sonya was
staying with my brother's family. But scarcely had I
arrived there before Sonya had to leave. She was called
away by a telegram from her sister in Russia, who had
a new and serious attack of illness.

When Sonya returned again in September, she brought
her little daughter, now eight years old, with her. She
now lived for the first time in a flat of her own in
Stockholm. She was tired of boarding-houses. She
was certainly most indifferent to any kind of comfort
and domestic conveniences, and did not care what furni-
ture she had, nor what food she ate. But, at the same
time, she greatly wanted to be independent and master
of her own time. She could no longer put up with the
many ties which living with others always entails. So
she got her friends to help her to choose a house, and a
housekeeper who would also look after the child. She
bought some furniture in the town, and ordered the
remainder from Russia. She thus made a home for
herself, which, however, retained the appearance of a
temporary arrangement that might be upset at any
moment.

The furniture sent from Russia was very characteris-
tic. It came from her parents' home, and had the old
aristocratic look about it. It had occupied a large

92 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

saloon, and consisted of a long sofa which took up a whole
wall ; a corner sofa (part of an old milieu), with floral
decorations in the centre, and a deep armchair. It was
all of rich carved mahogany, upholstered in bright red
silk damask, now old and tattered. The stuffing was
also spoiled and many of the springs broken. Sonya
always intended to have this furniture repaired, newly
polished, and newly upholstered, but this was never done,
partly because, to Sonya with her bringing up, tattered
furniture in a drawing-room was nothing astonishing,1
and partly because she never felt sufficient interest in
Stockholm to have things put to rights, feeling sure that
her home there was but a halfway-house, and she need
not therefore trouble to spend money on it.

Sometimes, when she was in good spirits, a sudden
frenzy would seize her, and she would amuse herself by
ornamenting her small rooms with her own needlework.

One day she sent me the following note : —

"ANNA CHARLOTTE! — Yesterday evening I had a
clear proof that the critics are right who maintain that
you have eyes for the bad and ugly but not for the good
and beautiful. Each stain, each scratch, on one of my
venerable old chairs, even if hidden by ten antima-
cassars, is very certain to be discovered and denounced
by you. But my really lovely new rocking-chair
cushion, which was en Evidence the whole evening, and
which endeavoured to draw your attention to itself, was
not honoured by you with even a single glance !

" Your SONYA."

1 It may be remembered that in her childhood's home the
nursery was papered with newspapers.

CHAPTER X.

HOW IT WAS, AND HOW IT MIGHT HAVE BEEN.

O CARCELY had Sonya got her possessions into some
O kind of order in her quaint ramshackle house, than
she was again summoned to Russia. She had to go in
mid-winter by sea to Helsingfors, and thence by rail to
St. Petersburg, in order to reach her suffering sister, who
continued to hover betwixt life and death. On such
occasions Sonya was never frightened, nor was she to
be deterred by any difficulty. She was tenderly devoted
to her sister, and always ready to sacrifice herself for
her sake. She left her little girl in my care during the
two winter months she was absent.

In that time I only received one letter from her,
which is of no interest beyond the fact that it shows
how sad her Christmas holidays were that year.

"ST. PETERSBURG, December 18, 1886.
" DEAR ANNA CHARLOTTE, — I arrived here yesterday
evening. To-day I can scarcely write these few words
to you. My sister is fearfully ill, though the doctor
thinks her better than she was some days ago. A long
wearing illness like this is truly one of the most terrible

94 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

trials possible. She suffers untold agonies, and can
hardly sleep or even breathe. ... I do not know how
long I shall remain here. I long so much for Foufi "
(her child), " and also for my work. My journey was
very trying and wearisome. Loving messages to you
all. Your affectionate friend,

" SONYA."

During the long days and nights that Sonya passed
by her sister's sick-bed, many thoughts and fantasies
naturally filled her mind. Then it was that she began
to ponder on the difference of " how it was, and how it
might have been." She remembered with what dreams
and infatuations she and her sister had commenced life ;
young, handsome, and richly endowed as they both were.
She realised how little life had given them of all that
they had pictured to themselves in their day-dreams.
Life had indeed been to them rich and varied, but in
the depths of both their hearts was a bitter feeling of
disappointment.

Ah ! how utterly different, Sonya would say to herself,
might it not have been but for the fatal errors both of
them had committed ! From these thoughts was bred
the idea of writing two parallel romances which should
depict the history of a human being in two different
ways. Early youth, with all its possibilities, should be
described, and a series of pictures followed up to some
important event. The one romance was to show the
consequence of the choice made at the critical moment,
and the other romance was to figure " what might have
been " had that choice been different. " Who is there

HOW IT 'WAS. 95

who has not some false step to regret," soliloquised
Sonya, " and who has not often wished to begin life
anew ? "

She wanted, in this work, to give the reality of life in
a literary form, if only she had talent enough to produce
it. She did not then know that she possessed the power
of writing. So when she returned to Stockholm she
tried to persuade me to undertake the romance. At
that time I had begun a book called " Utomkring-
aktenskap," which was to be the history of old maids ;
of those who, for one reason or another, had never been
called upon to become the head of a family. Their
thoughts, their ideas of love and marriage, the interests
and struggles of their lives, were to be described. In a
word, it was to be the romance of women who are com-
monly believed to have no romance at all. A sort of
counterpart to " Mandvolk," in which Garborg tells
how bachelors live. I wished to describe the life of the
lonely women of my day. I had collected materials
and types, and was much interested in my design.

Then Sonya appeared with her idea; and so great
was her influence upon me, so great her power of per-
suasion, that I forsook my own child in order to adopt
hers. A few letters I wrote to a mutual friend at this
time will best describe the hot enthusiasm with which
this new project had inspired both Sonya and myself.

" February 2, 1887.

" I am now writing a new novel, entitled ' Utom-
kring-aktenskap.' Only fancy ! I am so deep in it
that the outside world, the world which is unconnected

96 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

with my work, no longer exists for me. The state,
physical and mental, in which one finds oneself when
writing something new, is wonderful. A thousand
doubts as to its merits, and as to one's own value, assail
one. In the depths of one's heart there is the
joy of possessing a secret world of one's very own, in
which one is at home, and the outworld becomes a
shadow. ... In the midst of all this I have a new idea.
Sonya and I have got an inspiration. We are going to
write a drama in two parts, which will occupy two
evenings. That is to say, the idea is hers ; and I am to
carry it out, and fill up the plot. I think the idea very
original. The first portion will show 'How it was,'
and the second * How it might have been.' In the
first every one is unhappy, because, in real life, people
generally hinder rather than further each other's happi-
ness. In the second, the same personages assist each
other, form a little ideal community, and are happy. Do
not mention this to any one. I really do not know
more of Sonya's idea than this mere sketch. To-morrow
she is going to tell me her plot, and I shall be able to
judge whether there be any dramatic possibilities in it.
You will laugh at me for thus anticipating. I always
do the finale from the start. I already see Sonya
and myself collaborating in a work which will have a
world-wide success, at least in this world, and perhaps
in another. We are quite foolish about it. If we could
only do it, it would reconcile us to everything. Sonya
would forget that Sweden is the greatest Philistia on
earth, and would no longer complain that she is wasting
the best years of her life here. And I — well, I should

HOW IT WAS. 97

forget all that I am brooding over. You will of course
exclaim : What children you are ! Yes, thank God !
that is just what we are. But fortunately there exists
a realm better than all the kingdoms of earth, a king-
dom of which we have the key — the realm of the
imagination, where he who will may rule, and where
everything is precisely as you wish it to be. But
perhaps Sonya's plot, which was at first intended for a
novel, will not do for a drama, and I could not write a
novel upon some one else's plan, for in a novel you are in
much closer relation to your work than in a drama."

I wrote on February loth : —

" Sonya is overjoyed at this new project, and the
fresh possibility in her life. She says she now under-
stands how a man grows more and more deeply in love
with the mother of his children. Of course, / am the
mother, because I am to bring this mental offspring into
the world ; and she is so devoted to me that it makes
me happy to see her beaming eyes. We enjoy ourselves
immensely. I do not think two women have ever
enjoyed each other's society so much as we do — and
we shall be the first example in literature of women-
collaborators. I have never been so kindled by an idea
as by this one. As soon as Sonya told me of it, it ran
through me like lightning down a conductor. I was
thunderstruck ! She told me her plot on the 3rd, but
it had a Russian mise en scene. When she left me, I
sat up half the night in the dark in my rocking-chair,
and when I went to bed the whole plot lay clear before
me. On Friday I talked it over with Sonya, and on

8

98 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

Saturday I began to write. Now the whole first portion,
a prologue and five acts, is sketched out. That is to
say, I did it in five days, working only two hours a
day, for when working at high pressure one cannot
sustain it long. I have never done anything so quickly.
Generally I contemplate an idea for months, even for
years, before I begin to write."

" April 2U/.

" The most pleasant thing about this work is, as you
will have noticed, that I admire it so much ! This is
the result of collaboration. I believe in it because it is
Sonya's idea, for naturally it is much easier for me to
believe that she is inspired, than to believe such a thing
of myself. She, on the other hand, admires my work,
and the spirit and artistic form which I give to it.
It would be impossible to have a better arrangement.
It is delightful to be able to admire one's own work
without conceit. I have never felt so much confidence
or so little misgiving. If we fail, I think we must
commit suicide ! . . . You wish to know Madame
Kovalevsky's share in the work. It is quite true that
she has not written a single sentence. But she has not
only originated the whole, but has also thought out the
contents of each act. She has given me besides several
psychological traits for the building up of the characters.
We read daily what I have done, and she makes remarks
and offers suggestions. She asks to hear it over and
over again, as children ask for their favourite tales.
She thinks nothing in all the world could be more
interesting."

HOW IT WAS. 99

On March 9th we read the play aloud for the first
time to our intimate friends. Up to that moment our
illusion and joy had been continually rising higher and
higher. Sonya had such overwhelming fits of exultation
that she was obliged to go out into the forest to shout
out her delight under the open sky. Every day, when
we had finished our work, we took long walks in Lill
Jans' wood, close to our homes in the town. There
Sonya jumped over stones and hillocks ; took me in
her arms and danced about ; exclaiming that life was
beautiful, and the future fascinating and full of promise !
She cherished the most exaggerated hopes of the success
of our drama. She fancied it would march in triumph
from capital to capital in Europe. Such a new and
original idea could not but prove a triumph in literature.
" This is how it might have been." It is a dream which
every one dreams ; and seen in the objective light lent by
the stage, it could not fail to prove entrancing. The very
essence of the plot was the glorification of love as the
only important thing in life ; and the social community
of the future lay in the vista it opened up, a community
in which all should live for all, even as every two
should live for each other. In this there was much of
Sonya's own deepest feelings and her ideal of happiness.

The motto of the first part was to be, " What shall it
profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his
own soul ? " and of the second part, " He who loses his
life shall save it."

But after the first reading to our friends, the work
entered into a new phase. Up to then we had seen it
as it might have been rather than as it was. Now all

ioo SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

the faults and shortcomings of the work, which had
been written in such feverish haste, became apparent.
And then began the tedious process of revision.

During the whole of that winter, Sonya could not
bring herself to think of her great mathematical work,
though the date of the competition for the Prix Bordin
was already fixed. She ought to have been working
for it with the utmost diligence. Mittag Leffler, who
always felt a kind of responsibility for her, and knew
that it was of the greatest importance to her to gain
the prize, was in despair when, each time he called
upon her, he found her embroidering in her drawing-
room. Just then she had a perfect mania for needle-
work. Like the Ingeborg of ancient romance, weaving
the deeds of her heroes, so she embroidered in silk and
wool the drama she could not indite with pen and
ink. While her needle mechanically went in and out,
her imagination was at work, and one scene after the
other was pictured in her mind.

I, for my part, worked with the pen, and when we
found that needle and pen had arrived at the same
result, our joy was great. It certainly reconciled us to
the differences of opinion to which we were sometimes
led, when our imaginations worked in opposite direc-
tions. But this more frequently took place during revi-
sion, than in the first draft of our play. Many were
the crises through which the drama passed at this period.

The following little note from Sonya is in answer to
some communication from me on one of these occasions :

" My poor child ! how often it has hovered between
life and death ! What has happened now ? Have you

HOW IT WAS. 101

been inspired, or the reverse ? I am inclined to
think that you wrote to me as you did out of pure
wickedness, so that I might lecture badly to-day !
How can you imagine that I can think about my
lecture when I know that my poor little bantling is
going through such a dangerous crisis ! I am glad I
have played the part of father, so that I can feel what
poor men must suffer from this miserable necessity of
revision. I wish I could see Strindberg, and shake
hands with him for once ! . . ."

I wrote about our drama on the ist of April to a
friend : —

" I have tried to introduce a little change into the
method of our work. To Sonya's great despair I have
forbidden her my study until I have rewritten the
whole of the second part of the play. I was too
much interrupted and worried before by the incessant
collaboration. I lost both the survey of the whole,
and all interest and intimate sympathy with my cha-
racters. The desire for solitude which is so strong
in me has been denied me. My personality has been
merged in Sonya's by her powerful influence, and still
her individuality has not had full expression. The
whole strength of my working-power lies in solitude,
and this is a chief objection to collaboration even with
such a sympathetic nature as Sonya's. She is the
complement of my nature. She is ' Alice ' in the
' Struggle for Happiness,' who cannot create anything
nor embrace anything with her whole heart, unless she
can share it with another. Everything she has produced
in mathematical work has been influenced by some one

102 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

else, and even her lectures are only successful when
Gosta is present."

Sonya often jestingly acknowledged this dependence
on her surroundings, and once wrote a note to my
brother, saying : —

" DEAR PROFESSOR, — Shall you come to my lecture
to-morrow ? Do not, if you are tired. I will try to
lecture as well as if you were there."

Once, when I had sent her some birthday wishes in
rhyme, she replied in the following verses, characteristic
of herself, in which, as often before, she terms herself a
chameleon —

" The changeful chameleon as every one knows,
As long as he sits alone in his nook,
Is ugly and dull and grey in his look ;
But in a good light how brightly he glows.

" No beauty has he, but he always reflects
What around him exists of beautiful hue.
He can shimmer alike in gold, green, or blue,
And of all his friends' hues there is none he rejects.

"In this creature, meseems, my likeness I see,
For, dearest of friends, wherever you go
I go in your steps ; for it is aye so,
That I can't stay behind, nor be turned back from thee.

"To a friend such as you all my reverence is due,
You write and you paint and you draw and what not.
These things are to me but rubbish and rot.
But, oh mercy on me ! you poetize too ! "

In the character of " Alice," Sonya, as I have already
remarked, thought to reproduce herself. Indeed, some

HOW IT WAS. 103

of the sentences in the book are so characteristic of her
that they 'are almost reproductions of words which she
actually spoke. In the great scene with Hjalmar (ist
part, act iii. sc. 2), she has tried to give expression to
her own ardent desire for tenderness, and union with
another ; to her despairing feeling of loneliness, and the
peculiar want of self-confidence which was always aroused
in her when she felt herself less beloved than she desired.

" Alice " says : " I am well accustomed to see others
more beloved than myself. At school it was always
said that I was the most gifted of the pupils, but I felt the
irony of fate which bestowed upon me so many gifts only
to make me feel what I might have been to others.
But no one cared for my affection : I do not ask for
much — very little — just sufficient to prevent any one
from invervening betwixt me and the one I love. I
have all my life wished to be first with some one. . . .
Let me only show you what I can be when I am loved !
Poor me ! I am not, after all, utterly without resources.
Look at me ! Am I handsome ? Yes, if I am loved.
Then I become beautiful, not otherwise ! Am I good ?
Yes ! if any one is fond of me I am goodness itself !
Am I unselfish ? I can be so utterly unselfish that my
every thought is bound up in another ! "

Thus touchingly and passionately could the admired
and celebrated Sonya Kovalevsky entreat for a devotion
which she never received. Not once was she the first
nor the only one with any person, though she longed
so passionately for this boon, and though one would
have imagined she possessed all the gifts which could
win and preserve such love.

104 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

" Alice " desires to participate in all " Karl's "
interests. She grows bitter when, for various reasons,
he draws back from her. She will not listen to reason.
She tries to force him to put aside all other considera-
tions and be true both to himself and his calling, and
to his love. This is Sonya through and through.

When, in the second part of the drama, " Alice "
breaks violently with her past life, and sacrifices riches
and position to live and work with " Karl " in a garret,
it is again Sonya as she pictured to herself what she
would have been had she had the good luck to have such
a choice. I do not doubt that if she had written the
scene in which " Karl's " happiness is depicted, it would
have been stronger, and have received a more personal
and warmer colouring than is now the case.

" Alice's " dreams about the People's Palace at Herr-
hamra and about the great Labour Association ; her
remark " How different it would have all been had
we received the same education, and had the same
social traditions, so as to form a band of comrades,"
describe also Sonya's dreams, and are her own identical
words.

Sonya idealised the Socialism of the future, and often
described, in glowing and eloquent words, a happy
commonwealth in which every one felt bound to each
other by a common lot ; a commonwealth in which
there were no opposing interests ; where the happiness
of one would be the happiness of all ; the sufferings of
one the sufferings of all.

After her death, a friend of hers told me that once,
when her husband telegraphed to Sonya that he believed

HOW IT WAS. 105

one of his speculations had resulted in a vast fortune,
she immediately planned a socialistic community. It
was her favourite dream, and she sought to give
expression to it in the second part of the drama, the
" Struggle for Happiness." Her dream was of both
personal happiness and the happiness of mankind in
general.

It is a pleasure to me to quote some sympathetic
words of Hermann Bang, in a short sketch which he
wrote of her whom we have lost, and published in a
Danish review. Speaking of the above-mentioned
drama, he says : —

" I admit that I love this strange play, which, with
mathematical exactness, depicts the almighty power of
love — and proves that love, and love alone, is every-
thing in life, and alone decides growth or decay. In
love alone lies development and strength, and alone
through love can duty be fulfilled."

No one could have better formulated than in the
above words the essence of the dramas which were the
" confession " of Sonya's life. It only grieves me that
they were written too late for her to feel the joy of
being so fully understood.

With her characteristic wish to explain scientifically
all the phenomena of life, Sonya had also invented a
whole theory to account for the idea of this double
drama. She wrote the outline of an unfinished prologue,
which, even now and in spite of its fragmentary form,
will, like everything which fell from her pen, be read
with interest. She sent it to me accompanied by the
following lines : —

106 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

" DEAR CARLOT, — I cannot help it. I cannot make
it any better. But if you can link my stray thoughts
together, it is well. If you cannot, we must let the
book appear without a prologue. If any one attacks
us we can explain later. Your SONYA."

The prologue ran thus : —

" Every one, perhaps, has at one time or another
given his imagination play, and pictured how different
his life would have been had he acted differently at
some decisive moment. In everyday life one often
realises that one is the slave of outward circumstance.
The even tenor of everyday life binds one with a thou-
sand invisible links. Every one fills a given sphere
in life. Every one has certain definite duties which are
fulfilled almost automatically without any overstrain
of energies. It matters little whether to-morrow one
is a little better or a little worse, a little stronger or
a little weaker, or a little more or less gifted than to-
day. One cannot divert the current of one's life from
the channel it has taken, without, at the same time,
presupposing the possession of qualities so unlike those
which one really has, that it is impossible, except in a
dream, to imagine oneself possessed of them without
losing one's feeling of identity. But when remembering
certain moments in one's life, the case is altogether
different. At those moments the illusions of free-will
become strangely intense. One fancies that if one could
have tried a little harder, had been cleverer or more
decided, one might have turned one's destiny into another
channel. On much the same ground stands our belief

HOW IT WAS. 107

in miracles. None but a mad person can think of
asking the Creator to change the great laws of nature,
to awaken, for instance, the dead. But I should like to
put a test-question to orthodox people. Have they
never, at any time, asked for a small change in the
course of events, such, for instance, as recovery from
sickness ? Often a small miracle seems so much easier
than a great one, and it requires quite an effort of the
mind to realise that both are precisely alike. So it is
with our thoughts about ourselves. It is almost
impossible for me to realise what I should feel if I woke
one morning with a voice like Jenny Lind's, with a
body supple and strong as * * * or with a * * * ; but I
can easily imagine that my complexion is * * *. It is
just such a critical moment which the authors attempt to
describe in these dramas. ' Karl,' according to their
idea, is one and the same person in either play, only
gifted with such slight differences of character as one
can easily imagine without losing the sense of individu-
ality. In ordinary life such differences would scarcely
be noticeable. Under most circumstances they would
have no influence on the decision between two actions.
Suppose, for instance, that all had gone well with our
hero and heroine, that the father had lived a couple of
years longer ; in that case ' Karl,' as described in either
drama, would have had no different fate. The diver-
gence of life under such circumstances would have been
so small that it would not have affected the main
current of events. But, as it was, a decisive moment
arrived at a time that two different duties seemed to
call in two different directions, and it was the slight

108 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

difference in character, above alluded to, that decided
the choice of opposite ways, and, once made, caused
their fates to diverge without ever meeting again. Or
let us choose an example from mechanics. Think for a
moment of a common pendulum, or, if you prefer it, a
small heavy ball hanging, by a very slight but supple
string, from a nail. If you give the ball a little touch,
it will swing to one side, describe a given arc of a
circle, rise to a given height, and return again, but
not to stop at the starting-point; it swings to about
the same height on the opposite side, and continues to
oscillate for some time. Had the original impulse been
a little stronger, the ball would have swung higher,
and the rest of the movement would have been on the
same scale. But if the original impulse has been so
strong as to allow the ball to pass the highest point
which the length of string permits, the ball will not
swing as before, but will continue its course on the other
side of the periphery, and in this case the movement
would be utterly changed in character.

" Two similar impulses, one of which, however, is
weaker and the other stronger than a certain average
force, always produce two entirely different results. In
mechanics one is accustomed to study just the extreme
and critical moments, and it is evident, that if you want
to gain a clear idea about phenomena, it is all-important
to study them when near the critical point of balance.
The authors of the double drama have deemed it might
be interesting to depict the effect of such a critical
moment on two individuals, similar but not identical.
In order to understand the play perfectly, ' Karl,' in the

HOW IT WAS. 109

two parts, must not be imagined as one and the same
person. But the difference in the two characters,
though the one is rather more ideal than the other, and
better able to distinguish between important and unim-
portant things, is so small that in everyday life it would
be almost impossible to distinguish one Karl from the
other. Had all gone well, had his father lived till his
son had an established position, no doubt the destiny of
the two Karls would have been almost identical. They
would have become celebrated as scientists, married at
the same age, and made the same choice. But trial
comes at the critical moment, and the almost impercep-
tible advantage which the one has over the others
enables him to surmount the critical point, while the
other falls heavily back."

The revision of the work took much longer than the
original composition, and when Sonya and I separated
for the summer, it was not yet concluded.

CHAPTER XL

DISAPPOINTMENTS AND SORROW.

SONYA and I had intended to spend the summer
together. The new literary partners, "Korvin-
Leffler " (Sonya and her biographer), intended to go
to Berlin and Paris in order to make acquaintances
in the literary and theatrical world, which might prove
useful to them later on when the offspring of their
genius was ready to make its triumphal progress through
the world.

But all these dreams fell to the ground.

It had been decided that we should start in the middle
of May. We were as happy in the prospect as though
the whole world of success and interest lay safely before
us, when once more sad news from Russia frustrated
all our plans. Sonya' s sister was again dangerously ill.
Her husband had been forced to return unexpectedly to
Paris. There was no help for it ; Sonya was obliged to
take a sorrowful journey to a painful sick-bed. Any
thought of pleasure was out of the question, and all
her letters of that summer show that she was in very
bad spirits. She writes : —

" My sister continues in the same state as last winter.

DISAPPOINTMENTS AND SORROW, in

She suffers much, and looks desperately ill. She has not
strength enough to turn from side to side, but yet I
think she is not quite without hope of recovery. She
is so glad I am with her. She says constantly she must
have died if I had refused to come. ... I feel so
depressed that I cannot write more to-day. The only
thing that is pleasant is to think of our ' fairy dream '
and of ' Vse Victis.' "

This alludes to the plan we had formed in the spring
of uniting the works together. The " fairy dream "
was mine, and was to be called " When Death Shall be
no More." When I mentioned the idea to Sonya she
seized upon it so vehemently, and worked it out in her
imagination so fully, that she was a partner in its pro-
duction. " Vas Victis " was her creation, and was to
be a novel. Its idea and plot were very characteristic
of her, but she did not think she could write it alone.
She wrote to me : —

" You tell me I am of some importance in your life
— and yet you have so much more than ever I had.
Think, then, what you must be to me, who am so lonely,
and who feel myself poor in affection and friendship."

Still later she wrote : —

" Have you never noticed that there are periods when
everything in life, both for oneself and one's friends,
seems to be covered as with a black veil ? One hardly
recognises one's dearest and nearest. The sweetest
strawberries turn to dust in your mouth. The wood-
fairy says that this always happens to little children
who pay truant visits to his haunts. Perhaps we two
had no permission to spend this summer together —

ii2 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

and yet we had worked so hard during last winter !
I try, however, to make use of every moment I can
spare. I think out my mathematical problem, and

muse deeply upon e's disjointed treatise — so full

as it is of genius. I am too depressed, and have no
energy to do literary work. Everything seems so faded
and uninteresting. At such moments mathematics are a
relief. It is such a comfort to feel that there is another
world outside oneself. One really does want to talk
of something besides oneself, only you, my dear and
precious friend, are always the same — and always dear.
I can scarcely express in words how much I long for
you. You are the dearest thing I possess, and our
friendship must at least last all my life. I do not know
what I should do without it."

Later on she wrote in French : —

" My brother-in-law has decided to remain in St.
Petersburg till my sister is able to accompany him to Paris.
I have thus sacrificed myself quite uselessly. If I knew
you were free, I would join you in Paris, though I must
say all this has quite taken away any wish to enjoy
myself. I feel rather anxious to stay somewhere where
I could write in peace. I have such a strong desire for
some kind of work, either literary or mathematical. I
want to lose myself in work, so as to forget myself and
every one else. If you wanted to meet me as much as I
want to meet you, I would go anywhere to join you.
But if your summer is already, as is probable, planned
out, I shall stay here, most likely, a couple of weeks
and then return with Foufi to Stockholm, where I
intend to live on the islands and to work with all my

DISAPPOINTMENTS AND SORROW. 113

might. I do not wish to make any arrangements for
any pleasures. You know what a fatalist I am. I fancy
I see in the stars that I am to expect no happiness this
summer. It is better therefore to be resigned, and to use
no more vain endeavours. . . . Yesterday, I wrote the
beginning of ' Vas Victis.' / shall most likely never
finish it.1 Perhaps what I have written to-day may
nevertheless be useful to you as material. In order to
write about mathematics one must feel more at home
than I do at this moment."

In a letter written later on when Sonya had settled
down in the islands near Stockholm, she writes : —

" I enjoyed the last few weeks in Russia very much.
I made some rather interesting acquaintances. But a
conservative old mathematical pedant like me cannot
write well away from home. So I returned to old
Sweden with my books and my papers."

Later, from the same place : —

" I have been thinking a great deal about our firstborn.
But, to tell the truth, I find very many faults in the poor
little creature, especially in my share in its composition.
As though in ridicule, fate has brought me into contact
with three scientific men this year, all very interesting in
different ways. One of them, in my opinion the least
gifted, has already been successful. The other, who is
full of genius in some ways and in others very borne,
has just begun to struggle for fame. What the result
will be I cannot say. The third, an interesting type, is
already helplessly broken, mentally and physically, but
most interesting for an author to study. The history
1 The italics are the biographer's.
9

H4 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

of these three men — in all its simplicity — seems to
me much fuller than all we have written about 'Karl '
and ' Alice.' In accordance with your brother's wish, I
have brought a volume of Runneberg's poems to study
here ('Hanna,' 'Nadeschda,' &c.), and I am now read-
ing them. But I do not care for them much. They
have all the same fault as Haydn's ' Creation.' The
devil is missing, and without some touch of this high
power there is no harmony in this world."

During this summer I received a jesting letter from
Sonya, which I quote because it gives a fair sample
of her satirical mood. As she did not shine in the
habit of order in the keeping of her papers and other
matters, she often received from me, in confidential
letters, some sharp admonitions to be careful not to
let such letters lie about. She consequently wrote me
the following note : —

" POOR ANNA CHARLOTTE ! — It seems to me
that it is becoming a chronic malady with you to
think that your letters are going to fall into other
hands. The symptoms are getting more and more
serious each time ! I think any one who writes
such an unintelligible hand as yours ought not to be
uneasy about this matter. I assure you that, with
the exception of the few people personally interested
in what you write, you would hardly find any one
who would have the patience to decipher your -pattes-
de-mouche. As to your last letter, it was of course lost
in the post. When I finally did get it from the Dead
Letter Office, I hastened to leave it open on the table

DISAPPOINTMENTS AND SORROW. 115

for the benefit of my maid and the whole G family

They all thought the letter rather well written, and that
it contained rather interesting things. — To-day I intend
to call on Professor Montan, in order to ask about
translations from the Polish. I shall take your letter
with me, and try my best to lose it in his reception
room. I can do nothing better to make you a celebrity.

" Your devoted

SONYA."

When we met in the autumn we began the final re-
vision of our double drama. But the work was purely
mechanical ; all the joy, the illusion, the enthusiasm,
had already vanished. By November the printing had
begun, and we offered the work to the " Dramatic
Theatre."

The correction of the proofs occupied us till the
winter. At Christmas the drama was published, and
was cut to bits by Virsen and the Stockholm Dagblad ,
but shortly afterwards it was refused by the " Dramatic
Theatre." A note from Sonya on receiving the news of
this check shows that she took it lightly : —

" What are you going to do now, you faithless, cruel
mother ? Divide the Siamese twins, and put asunder
what nature has joined ? You make me shudder.
Strinberg was right in his opinion about woman ; but
in spite of this I will come to you this evening, you
horrid creature ! "

The fact was that we were rather indifferent as to the
fate of the work now that we had done with it. We
were so far alike that we only cared about " generations

n6 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

yet unborn," and we were already dreaming of produc-
tions which were to have far better success. The difference
between us was, that Sonya still clung with all her heart
to the idea of collaboration, while in mine the idea was
already dead, though I did not dare to acknowledge this
to her. Who knows if it were not a secret craving to
be once more mistress of my own thoughts and words
which unconsciously contributed to the decision I now
arrived at — that was, to go to Italy for the winter ? This
journey had been often discussed, but Sonya had always
been against it as a treachery to our friendship. But
that friendship, though in one way so precious to me and
fecund with delight, now began to oppress me by its exac-
tions. I mention the fact in order to throw light on
the later tragedy of Sonya's love. Her idealistic nature
sought for a completeness which life seldom gives, that
perfect unio,n of two souls which she never realised either
in friendship or in love. Her friendship, as afterwards
also her love, was tyrannical, in the sense that she would
not suffer in any one she loved a feeling, an affection, or
a thought, of which she was not the object. She wished
to have such full possession of the person of whom she
was fond as almost to exclude the possibility of indi-
vidual life in that other person. Even in love, this is
almost impossible, at least as regards two highly developed
personalities, and naturally it is still more difficult in
friendship. The very foundation of friendship must be
the individual liberty of each friend.

To this peculiarity in Sonya is perhaps owing the
fact that maternal Jove did not satisfy her craving for
tenderness. A child does not love in the same way in

DISAPPOINTMENTS AND SORROW. 117

which it is loved. It does not enter into the interests
of its parent. It takes more than it gives. Sonya
desired and demanded self-sacrificing devotion.

I do not mean that she exacted more than she gave in
her relations with those of whom she was fond. On
the contrary, she gave full meed of sympathy, and was
prepared to sacrifice herself to any extent. But she
expected to get back as much as she gave. She wished
to be met half-way ; and she considered herself of equal
importance to her friend, as he or she was to her.

During this same autumn, besides literary dis-
appointment, Sonya was called upon to bear a great
and bitter sorrow. The sister to whose sick-bed she
had so often hurried over land and sea, often sacrificing
her own plans and wishes to the desire of being with
her at the last, had been taken to Paris for an operation.

Sonya was at the time tied to the University by
her lectures, but, had her sister sent for her, she would
have gone even if it had cost her her professorship and
livelihood. But she was told that there was no danger
in the operation, and every hope of full recovery. She
had already received news that the operation had been
successful, when a telegram suddenly announced her
sister's death. Inflammation of the lungs had super-
vened, and the weak state of the patient had caused her
to sink almost immediately.

Sonya, as we learn in her " Sisters Rajevsky," had
always loved this sister most dearly. To the sorrow of
having lost her for ever, and of not being with her at
the last, was added to her grief at the sad tragedy of
Anyuta's life. She who had once been so brilliant, so

Ji8 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

greatly admired, had been consumed by a most painful
illness ; disappointed of everything she had hoped for ;
unhappy in all her personal circumstances, hampered in
her career as an author, and was now cut off by inexorable
death in the very flower of her age ! To such a brood-
ing nature as Sonya's all sufferings were magnified
because she generalised them. Any misfortune which
befell herself or those she loved became the misfortune
of humanity. She not only bore her own sorrows, but
those of the world at large.

It pained her much to think that with her sister's
death the last link was broken which united her to the
home of her childhood.

" There is no one now who remembers me as the little
Sonya," she said. " To all of you I am Madame
Kovalevsky, the celebrated scientist. To no one am I
any longer the little shy, reserved, neglected Sonya of
my childhood."

But the great self-command she possessed and the
power of concealing her feelings enabled her to appear,
in society, much the same as before. She did not even
wear mourning. Her sister, like herself, had had a great
aversion to crape, and Sonya considered it would be a
false conventionality to mourn for her in that manner.
But her inner anguish showed itself in intense irritability.
She would cry at the least annoyance, for instance, if
any one happened to tread on her foot, or if she tore
her dress. She would burst into a flood of angry tears
at the least contradiction. In analysing herself, as she
always did, she said : —

great sorrow, which I try to control, shows

DISAPPOINTMENTS AND SORROW. 119

itself in such petty irritability. It is the tendency of
life in general to turn everything into pettiness, and
one never has the consolation of a great and complete
suffering."

Sonya hoped that her sister might somehow appear
to her, either in dreams or in an apparition. She had
all her life maintained that she believed in dreams as
portents, as we have already learned from the friend of
her youth, and she believed also in forebodings and
revelations of other kinds.

She knew long before whether a year was to be lucky
or unlucky. She knew that the year 1887 would bring
her both a great sorrow and a great joy. She already
foretold that the year 1888 would be one of the
happiest of her life, and that 1890 would be the
saddest. 1891 was to bring her the Dawn of Light —
this dawn was that of death.

Sonya had always troubled dreams when any one
whom she loved was suffering, or when something
happened which would bring her sorrow. The last
night before her sister's death she had very bad dreams
— to her great astonishment, for she had just had good
news. But when the telegram arrived announcing
Anyuta's death, Sonya said she ought to have been
prepared for it.

But the vision or apparition of her sister, which she
expected and hoped for after death, never came.

CHAPTER XII.

TRIUMPH AND DEFEAT — ALL WON, ALL LOST.

I LEFT Sonya in January, 1888, and we did not
meet again till September, 1889. Two years had
not passed, yet both our lives during those months had
gone through their most decisive crises. We met again
like changed beings. We could not be as intimate as
formerly, for each of us was engrossed in her own life's
drama, and neither could speak to the other of the
conflicts through which she had passed.

As it is partly the- object of this Memoir to relate
what Sonya said about herself, I shall, with regard to
this last tragedy of her life, narrate only what she
herself told me. It will naturally be imperfect and
indefinite in detail, because she no longer allowed me
to read her inmost heart.

Shortly after my departure, she had made the acquaint-
ance of a man whom she said was, in her opinion, more
full of genius than any one she had ever known. She
had from the first been attracted to him by the strongest
sympathy and admiration, which, little by little, had
developed into passionate love. He, on his side, had
admired her warmly, and had asked her to be his wife.

TRIUMPH AND DEFEAT. 121

But she felt that he was drawn to her more by admira-
tion than by love, and naturally refused to marry him.
She now threw her whole soul into the endeavour to
win him completely, and awaken in his soul the same
devotion which she felt for him. In this struggle we
have the story of her life during the long period in
which we were separated. She worried herself and the
man she loved with exactions. She made " scenes " ;
was jealous and irritable.

They parted several times in anger and bitterness,
and then Sonya was torn to pieces by despair. They
met again, forgave each other, and parted once more
as violently as ever.

Her letters to me at this time show very little of
her inner life. She was reserved by nature where her
deepest feelings were concerned, and more especially
when touched by sorrow. It was only under the
influence of personal intercourse that she melted into
confidence. It was only on my return to Sweden that
I learned what I know of this portion of her life.

Shortly after my departure from Stockholm in 1888
she wrote : —

" This story about E." (referring to an incident in
her circle in Stockholm) " inclines me to take up again,
directly I regain my freedom, my first-born ' Privat-
docenten.' I believe if I re-wrote it I could make
something good of it. I really feel quite proud that
while yet quite young I understood so well certain
sides of human life. When I now analyse E.'s feel-
ings to G., I feel I have depicted the relations
between my ' Lecturer ' and his professor admirably.

122 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

What a capital opportunity I shall have for preaching
socialism ! Or at least for developing the theory that
the democratic but not socialistic state is the greatest
horror possible."

Shortly after this she writes : —

" Thanks for your letter from Dresden. I am
always so glad when I get a few lines from you, though
your letter on the whole gave me a melancholy impres-
sion. What is to be done ? Life is sad. One never
gets what one likes, or v/hat one thinks one needs.
Everything else, but not just that one thing. Some one
else will get the happiness I desire, and get it altogether
unwished for. The service in Life's Banquet is badly
managed. All the guests seem to get the portions
destined for others. Nansen, at least, seems to have
got the position he desired. He is so kindled with
enthusiasm about his voyage to Greenland, that no
( sweetheart ' could, in his eyes, be of any importance
compared with it. So you must refrain from writing
to him the brilliant idea which occurred to you. For
I am afraid you do not know that not even the

knowledge that would keep him from visiting

the souls of dead heroes which the Lapland Saga
says hover above the icefields of Greenland. For
my part, I work as hard as ever I can at my prize-
treatise, but without any special enthusiasm or pleasure."

Sonya had shortly before made the acquaintance of
Frithiof Nansen, while he had been in Stockholm. His
whole personality and his bold enterprise had made a
great impression on her. They had met only once,
but they were so delighted with each other during that

TRIUMPH AND DEFEAT. 123

one meeting, that later on they both thought it would
have been possible, had nothing else intervened to dim
the impression, that it might have deepened into some-
thing more decided and life-long.

In Sonya's next letter, in January, 1888, she writes
again on the same subject : —

" I am at this moment under the influence of the
most exciting book I have ever read. I got to-day
from Nansen a little pamphlet with a short outline
of his projected wanderings through the icefields of
Greenland. I got quite depressed by it. He has
just received a subscription of 5,000 kroner from
a Danish merchant named Gamel, and I suppose
no power on earth could now keep him back. The
sketch is so interesting that I shall send it to you as
soon as you forward me a definite address, but only
on the understanding that I get it back immediately.
When you have read it you will have a very fair idea
of the man himself. To-day I had a talk with B.
about him. B. thinks his works full of genius. He
also thinks him much too good to risk his life in
Greenland."

In her next letter appears the first sign of the crisis
now impending in her life. The letter is not dated,
but was written in March of the same year. She had
now made the acquaintance of the man who was to
exercise an all-powerful influence on the rest of her
career. She writes : —

" You also ask me other questions, which I do not
even wish to answer to myself — so you must excuse me
if I do not answer them to you. I am afraid of making

124 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

plans for the future. The only thing that unfortu-
nately is certain, is that I must spend two months and
a half at Stockholm. But perhaps it is just as well for
me to realise how really I am alone in life."

I had written to Sonya that I had heard from some
Scandinavians in Rome that Nansen had been already
engaged for several years. In answer to this, I received
the following merry letter : —

"DEAR ANNA CHARLOTTE, —

" ' Souvent femme varie,
Bien fole est qui s'y fie.'

If I had received your letter with its awful news a
few weeks ago, it would no doubt have broken my
heart. But now I confess, to my shame, that when I
read your deeply sympathetic lines yesterday, I could
not help bursting out into laughter. It was a hard
day for me, for burly M. was leaving that evening.
I hope some of the family have already told you of the
change in our plans, so that I need not mention that
subject to-day. On the whole, I think this change of
plan good for me personally. For if burly M. had
stayed longer, I do not know how I should have got
on with my work. He is so great, so gross-geschlagen
according to K.'s happy expression — that he really takes
too much room up on the sofa and in one's mind. It
is simply impossible for me, in his presence, to think
of any one or anything else but him. During the ten
days he spent in Stockholm we were constantly together,
generally tdte-a-tgte^ and spoke of scarcely anything but
ourselves, and that with a frankness which would have

TRIUMPH AND DEFEAT. 125

amazed you. Still I cannot, in spite of all this, analyse
my feelings for him. I think I could best give my
impressions of him in music set to Musset's incom-
parable words : —

'II est tres joyeux — et pourtant tres maussade ;
Detestable voisin — excellent camerade ;
Extremement futil — et pourtant tres pose ;
Indignement naif — et pourtant tres blase ;
Horriblement sincere — et pourtant tres ruse.'

He is into the bargain a real Russian. He has more
genius and originality in one of his little fingers than
you could squeeze out of both yours put together, even
if you put them under a hydraulic press."

(The rest of the letter only contains the outlines
of Sonya's plans for the summer's trip, which were
not realised, so I only quote the most important parts
of it.)

" I cannot believe I shall go to Bologna " (to the
Jubilee, at which she had always intended to be present),
" partly because such a journey, including dresses and
everything, would be too expensive, and partly because
all such celebrations are tedious and not at all to my
taste. It is also very important that I should be in
Paris for a short time. I intend to stay there from
May 1 5th to June i5th. After that we shall come
with burly Mr. M. to meet you in Italy, and, as far as I
can see, shall certainly spend ten months there together.
That is the chief thing, but where is a matter of detail
which affects me less. I, for my part, propose the
Italian lakes or Tyrol. But M. would prefer to make
us accompany him to the Caucasus, via Constantinople.

126 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

I admit that this is very tempting, especially as he
assures me that it would not be very expensive. But
on that point I have my doubts, and I think it would
be more suitable for us to keep to well-known and
civilised countries. There is another reason, which, to
my mind, is in favour of the first plan. I should like,
during the summer, to write down some of my dreams
and fancies, and you must also begin to work after
three months' rest. This is only possible if we settle
down in some quiet place and lead a regular idyllic life.
I have never been so tempted to write romance as when
with burly M. Despite his vast proportions, which, by
the bye, are quite in keeping with the character of a
Russian boyar, he is still the most perfect hero for a
novel (a realistic novel, of course) that I have ever met
with. I believe that he is also a good critic, with a
spark of the sacred fire."

Nothing came of our plans for meeting that summer.
Sonya joined her new Russian friend in London at the
end of May, and later in the summer she went to the
Harz. mountains, and looked up Weierstrass in order
to get his advice on the final editing of her work.
She had sent it in the spring to the Academy in a half-
finished condition, with a request to be allowed to send
in a fuller definition of the problem before the awarding
of the prize. The short letters which I received at
this time show how feverishly she was at work during
the whole spring. A note from Stockholm was ad-
dressed jointly to my brother and myself, as we were
then together in Italy : —

TRIUMPH AND DEFEAT. 127

<f MY DEAR FRIENDS, — I have no time to write
long letters. I am working as hard as I can, and
indeed as hard as any one could. I do not yet know
whether I shall have time to finish my treatise or not.
I have come to a difficulty which I cannot yet get
over."

Towards the close of May, while on the way to
London, she writes the following : —

" BELOVED ANNA CHARLOTTE, — Here I am in Ham-
burg, waiting for the train which is to take me to
Flushing, and thence I go to London. You can hardly
imagine what a delight it is to me to be mistress of
myself and my thoughts once more, and not be obliged
to concentrate myself forcibly on one subject, as was
the case during the last few weeks."

During her visit to the Harz mountains she often
complained of the restriction her work exercised on her
thoughts. There a group of younger mathematicians
had gathered round the old veteran Weierstrass —
Mittag Leffler, the Italian Volterra, the German Can-
tor, Schwartz, Hurvitz, Hettner, and others. Of
course, among so many representatives of the same
science, much interesting conversation took place, and
Sonya grumbled that she was obliged to sit over her
work instead of enjoying this interchange of thought.
She was jealous of those who had more time to enjoy
the inspiring suggestiveness of their honoured teacher's
conversation.

Shortly after, she returned to Stockholm, and during

ii8 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

the autumn months she lived in a perpetual state of
over-excitement and exertion, which broke down her
health for a time.

This year, 1888, was, she had long been forewarned,
to bring her to the summit of success and happiness.
It bore within it, also, the germ of all the sorrows and
misfortunes which were to break upon her with the
new year. But that Christmas, at the solemn seance
of the French Academy of Science, she received in
person the Prix Bordin, the greatest scientific honour
which any woman has ever gained ; one of the greatest
honours, indeed, to which any one can aspire.

The man in whom she had found such " full satis-
faction," as she declared, in whom she found all that
her soul thirsted for, all that her heart desired, was
present on that occasion. At that supreme moment,
all she had dreamt of as the highest joy of life became
hers. Hers was the highest acknowledgment of her
genius — hers, the object of her truest devotion.

But she was the princess into whose cradle the
fairies had placed every good gift, but always to be
neutralised by the baneful gift of the single jealous
fairy. She indeed gained all that she most desired, but
it came at the wrong moment, and under circumstances
which embittered it to her. In the midst of her intense
striving for the prize which her scientific friends knew
was a matter of honour for her to win, there had come
into her life this new element ; an element for which
she had often longed.

During the last few months before the essay was
despatched to Paris she had lived in a frightful state

TRIUMPH AND DEFEAT. 129

of excitement, torn by two conflicting claims — she was
at once a woman and a scientist. Physically she nearly
killed herself by working exclusively at night ; spiritually
she was racked by the two great claims now pressing
upon her : the one requiring her to finish an intel-
lectual problem, the other demanding her self-surrender
to the new and powerful passion which possessed her.
It is a conflict which every one must undergo in some
degree who gives himself up to creative work. This
is one of the strongest objections that can be made
to intellectual talent in woman, because the exercise of
it prevents that self-surrender in matters of affection,
which every man demands of his wife.

For Sonya it was in any case a terrible trial to feel
that her work stood in the way between her and the
man to whom she would fain have devoted her every
thought. She felt dimly, though she never gave it
expression in words, that his love was chilled by seeing
her, just when they were most closely drawn together,
engrossed by a scheme which perhaps seemed to him
a mere ambitious striving for honour and distinction,
a mere outcome of vanity.

Such an honour naturally does not increase a woman's
value in men's eyes. A singer or an actress, covered
with laurels, will often make a triumphal entry to a
man's heart, as Sonya herself remarked. So also may
a social beauty who wins admiration by her charms.
But the woman who studies seriously until her eyes are
red and her brow furrowed, in order to win an academic
prize — what is there in that to catch a man's fancy ?
Sonya said to herself, with bitterness and irony, that

10

i3o SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

she had acted unwarrantably ! She ought, she thought,
to have sacrificed her ambition and vanity for that which
was so much more to her than worldly success. But
still she could not do it. To withdraw at the very
verge of success would have been to give the world a
striking proof of woman's incompetence. The force
of circumstances and her own nature carried her forward
to the goal she had set before her. Had she known
what the delay which had taken place in finishing her
treatise was to cost her, she would never have wasted
precious time in writing " A Struggle for Happiness,"
the composing of which made her own struggle for
happiness so much more difficult than it might other-
wise have been.

However, she arrived in Paris, and received the
prize. She was the heroine of the hour. Speeches
were made in her honour which she was obliged to
acknowledge in like manner. She was interviewed and
received visits all day long, and had scarcely a moment
to give to the man who had come thither in order to be
present at her triumph. In this way both the happiness
of her love and the triumph of her ambition were
spoiled. Separately they would have given her great
joy. Her tragic destiny gave her all she desired
in life, but under such circumstances that, as she
herself complained, the sweetness was turned to
gall.

But perhaps this was also due to the peculiarity of
her nature, divided always between the world of thought
and that of feeling ; between her need of yielding
herself to another, and her need of having herself in

TRIUMPH AND DEFEAT. 131

her own keeping. This eternal dualism enters of
necessity into the life of every woman of genius,
as soon as love arrives and makes itself felt as a
force.

To this were joined the complications engendered by
Sonya's jealous tyrannical temperament. She exacted
from her lover such absolute devotion and self-abnega-
tion, as must have surpassed the powers of all but a
few very exceptional men. On the other hand, she
could not decide to cut her life in two at one blow,
surrender her work, and become merely a wife.

On the impossibility of reconciling such different
claims, their love suffered its final shipwreck.

About this time Sonya met in Paris a cousin whom
she had not seen since she was a girl. He was a rich
proprietor in the interior of Russia, where he led a
happy life with a beloved wife and large family. In
his youth he had had certain artistic inclinations which
he had afterwards abandoned. He and Sonya used
to discuss ambition. Now he beheld her in her full
triumph, surrounded and feted as the heroine of the
day, and that in Paris, where any personal triumph
becomes more intoxicating than elsewhere. No wonder
a faint feeling of bitterness came over Sonya's cousin
when he thought of his own life. She had won all
of which they had dreamed. But he ! He had sunk
into a mere insignificant country gentleman, and the
happy father of a family.

Sonya looked at his handsome, well-preserved face,
with its calm and restful expression ; she heard him
speak of his wife and children, and thought that he

i32 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

at least had found happiness. He did not wear himself
out with complicated questions ; he took life simply as
he found it.

She wished to found a story on this meeting and this
motive. She told me so, and I regret deeply that she
found no time to write it when full of her personal
philosophy.

The following is a letter of this period addressed to
my brother : —

"DEAR GOSTA, — I have just this minute received
your kind letter. I am so grateful for your friendship.
Yes, I believe it is the only good thing life has really
given me ! How ashamed I am to have done so little
to prove to you how much I value it. But forgive
me. I am not at this moment mistress of myself. I
receive so many letters of congratulation, and, by a
strange irony of fate, I have never felt so miserable in
my life. Unhappy as a dog ; no — I hope for the
dog's sake it is not so unhappy as human beings can
be. Comme les hommes, et surtout comme les femmes
peuvent I'etre. But perhaps I shall grow more sensible
by and by. I shall at least try. I will attempt to
begin a new work, and interest myself in practical
things. I shall of course be led entirely by your
advice, and do whatever you wish. At this moment
all I can manage to do is to keep my sorrows to myself.
I take care to make no mistakes in society, nor give
people any opportunity of talking about me. I have
been invited out this week to Bertrand's and to Mena-
brea's ; and afterwards to Count Levenhaupt, to meet

TRIUMPH AND DEFEAT. 133

Prince Eugen, &c. But to-day I feel too low to
be able to describe all these dinner parties to you. I
will try to do so another time.

" When I return to my rooms I do nothing but walk
up and down. I have no appetite, neither can I sleep.
I do not know whether I should care to go away. I
shall decide that next week. Good-bye for to-day,
dear Gosta. Keep your friendship for me. I am in
sore want of it ; that much I may say. Kiss Foufi for
me, and thanks for all your care of her.

"Yours most affectionately,

" SONYA."

She decided to leave Paris in the spring, and
wrote to me from there in French : —

" Let me first congratulate you on the joy which has
come to you. What a happy * child of the sun ' you
are to have found so great, so deep a love at your age !
That is really a fate worthy of such a lucky soul as you
are. But it has always been so. You were 'happiness,'
and I am, and most likely shall always be, ' struggle.'
It is strange, but the longer I live the more I am
governed by the feeling of fatalism, or rather deter-
minism. The feeling of free-will, said to be innate in
man, fails me more and more. I feel so deeply that,
however much I may struggle, I cannot change my fate
one iota. I am now almost resigned. I work because
I feel I am at the worst. I can neither wish nor hope
for anything. You have no idea how indifferent I am
to everything.

" But enough about me ! Let us talk of something

134 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

else. I am glad you like my Polish story.1 I need
not tell you how delighted I should be if you would
translate it into Swedish. But I should reproach myself
with taking up your time, which you might employ to
so much better purpose. I have also written a long
story about my sister's childhood, her youth, and her
first steps in a literary career ; and about our connec-
tion with Dostojevsky. Just now I am busy at ' Vae
Victis,' which, perhaps, you remember. I have also
another story in hand, ' Les Revenants,' which also
takes up much time. I should much like you to give
me full powers to dispose of our ' child,' 'When death
shall be no more.' It is my favourite of all our children,
and lately I have often thought of it. I have found an
admirable frame for it — Pasteur's Institute. I have
lately got, quite accidentally, to know all about the
departments of that Institute ; and it seems to me
peculiarly well suited to a dramatic setting. I have
for some weeks been turning over in my mind a
a plan for making our ' child ' happy. But it is so
bold and fantastic that I do not like to carry it out
without full powers from you."

In August she wrote again from Sevres, where she
stayed, during the summer months, with her little
daughter and some Russian friends : —

" I have just received a letter from Gosta, telling
me that I shall perhaps meet you on my return to
Sweden. I must say I am selfish enough to rejoice
with all my heart. I am so impatient to know what

1 A memory of her youth, written in French, and translated
later on in the Nordisk Tidschrift.

TRIUMPH AND DEFEAT. 135

you are now writing. On my part I have a great deal
I should like to show you and tell you. Up to now,
thank God, I have never been at a loss for a subject
for a novel. And at this moment my head is in a
ferment with plots. I have finished c The Sisters
Rajevsky ' ; I have written the preface to * Vae Victis/
and I have commenced two stories — who knows when
I shall have time to finish them ! "

CHAPTER XIII.

LITERARY ENDEAVOURS TOGETHER IN PARIS.

IN the middle of September, 1889, when Sony a
returned to Stockholm, we met again after a
separation of nearly two years. I found her very
much changed. Her brilliant wit and badinage had
disappeared. The furrow on her brow had deepened ;
her expression was gloomy and abstracted. Even
her eyes had lost the marvellous lustre which was
their chief charm. They were now dull and some-
times squinted slightly.

Sonya succeeded in hiding from her less intimate
friends her real feelings, and, to them, appeared much
the same as before. She even said that, when she had
felt more depressed than usual in society, people would
remark of her that Madame Kovalevsky had been
really quite brilliant. But to us, who knew her well,
the change was only too apparent. She had lost all
wish for society, not only as regards strangers, but even
for that of her friends. She could not remain idle for
a moment, and only found peace in hard work. She
recommenced her lectures from a sense of duty, but
had no longer any real interest in them.

136

LITERARY ENDEAVOURS. 137

It was in literary composition that she now sought
an outlet for the increasing restlessness which consumed
her. This was partly because such work had points
of contact with her own inner life ; and partly because
she had not yet recovered from the overstrain she had
undergone, which prevented her from resuming her
scientific studies. She now began again to revise her
"Vae Victis," and write the preface. The book had
been translated from the Russian MS., and published
in the literary calendar "Nornan" for that year.
In it there is a short passage depicting the struggle
of nature, the awakening from the long winter sleep
in spring. But it is not, as usual in such compositions,
written in praise of Spring. On the contrary, it is the
calm restful Winter which is here idealised. Spring is
depicted as a brutal, sensual being, which awakens
great hopes only to disappoint them.

Sonya intended this novel to be part of her own
inner history. Few women have become more cele-
brated, or been so surrounded by outer success. Yet,
in this novel, she depicts the story of defeat, because
she felt herself defeated, in spite of her triumphs, in
her struggle for happiness ; and her sympathies were
rather for those who succumb than for those who
conquer.

This deep feeling for suffering was very character-
istic of her. It was not the ordinary " charity " of
the Christian. It was that she made the sufferings of
others her own ; not with the superiority which strives
to console, but with the sympathy that is the outcome
of despair ; despair at the cruelty of life. Sonya

138 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

always said that what she most loved in the Greek
religion, in which she had been educated, and for which
she never quite lost her veneration, was its sympathy
for suffering, which is much more emphasised in this
than in any other religious community. In literature
she was always most touched by this note in any writer,
and it is in Russian literature that the feeling has found
its most beautiful expression.

Sonya now began to put the finishing touches to the
books which contained the memories of her child-
hood, and which Froken Hedberg translated from the
Russian.

In the evenings, in our own family circle, these
books were read aloud chapter after chapter as soon
as they were translated. In spite of the melancholy
mood which had overcome both Sonya and myself, that
autumn was still full of interest in consequence of her
great eagerness for work ; an eagerness felt by both,
though we were no longer in collaboration.

During October and November I wrote five new
tales, which, together with Sonya's, were read aloud
in the family circle. We were very happy in each
other's work. We went together to the publishers,
and our books — Sonya's " Sisters Rajevsky," and my
" From Life ; No. III.," appeared simultaneously. It
was a faint reflection of our work together in earlier
days.

Sonya had intended to publish her memoirs in a
definite autobiographical form, and it was in that style
that she wrote them in Russian. But as soon as we
had read the first chapter, we dissuaded her from the

LITERARY ENDEAVOURS. 139

attempt. We considered that, in a small community
such as ours, it would shock people if a still unknown
writer sat down and wrote, without disguise, all the
most intimate details of her family life for the benefit
of the public.

The whole was written in Russian, and several
chapters were already translated, when she turned the
autobiography into a novel called " Tanja." From
that moment we had little or nothing to object to, and
could only express our astonishment on finding that,
at one stroke, our friend had become a finished artist.

While our books were going through the press, we
once more attempted a work in collaboration.

Sonya, during her last visit to Russia, had found, in
her sister's desk, the MS. of a drama, which Anyuta
had written many years previously. It had met with
warm approval from some of the best literary critics
in Russia, but it was not ready for the stage. It
contained scenes full of inspiration. The delineation
of character was admirable, and throughout there lay
in it a wonderfully deep, melancholy spirit. It had,
besides, a very strong Russian local-colouring.

When Sonya read it to me in full translation, I at
once felt that it was worth revising in order to bring it
out on the Swedish stage. Sonya, moreover, ever since
her sister's death, had felt a keen desire to make some
of her works known. It pained her to remember how
Anyuta's rich gifts had been repressed in their develop-
ment, and she found a kind of consolation in the thought
of obtaining for her sister at least a posthumous fame.
We set to work. We discussed scene after scene, act

140 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

after act, and agreed what alterations were necessary.
Sonya sketched the drama in Russian, and added nearly
a whole act, thus making her first attempt in dramatic
dialogue. She then dictated it to me in her broken
Swedish, and I put it into shape as I wrote it down.

But it seemed as though no form of collaboration
could succeed. We read the new drama to a select
circle of literary and artistic friends in Sonya's red
drawing-room. It had, after much deliberation, re-
ceived the somewhat clumsy title of " Till and After
Death." The opinion of our friends was not very
encouraging. They found the drama too monoto-
nously gloomy. They did not think it would be
successful on the stage.

Meanwhile Sonya and I had each many personal
cares, and now that Christmas was approaching we
had to consider where we should spend that holiday.
Neither of us had the heart to spend it at home.
Stockholm was hateful to us both, but for different
reasons. So we finally decided to try and realise our
old plan of travelling together as we had never yet
managed to do. After many suggestions of places, we
decided on going to Paris. There, we thought, we
could, more easily than anywhere, come into contact
with literary and theatrical people. And we hoped to
divert our thoughts from our own personal worries.
We left Stockholm in the beginning of December.

But how different was this journey from what we
had been used to plan ! We neither of us expected to
enjoy this journey. It was only intended as morphia
— to deaden our thoughts. We sat silent and sad,

LITERARY ENDEAVOURS. 141

staring at each other, and feeling that our indi-
vidual melancholy was increased by that which each
saw in the face of the other. We spent a couple of
days at Copenhagen, and called on some friends and
acquaintances. They were all astonished at the change
in Sonya. She had grown much thinner. Her face
was much wrinkled, her cheeks hollow, and she had,
besides, a bad cough, caught during the influenza
epidemic which had raged in Stockholm. She took no
care of herself, and it was a wonder that she recovered
at all. One day, when she had received a letter which
excited her, she got out of bed, where she lay in a high
fever, and, half-dressed and in thin shoes, went out into
the cold wet snow. She came back drenched to the
skin, and sat without changing her clothes till nightfall.
" You see," she said to me when I entreated her to take
more care, " I am not even happy enough to take a
serious illness. Do not be frightened. Life will spare
me. I should only be too happy to have done with it,
but such happiness will not fall to my lot."

While, as we travelled through from Copenhagen to
Paris, via Gedser, Warnemunde, Hamburg, we sat
together motionless in the railway carriage, Sonya said
over and over again :

" Just think if the train which is passing should run
off the line and crush us ! Railway accidents happen
so often. Why cannot one happen now? Why
cannot fate take pity on me ? "

During the long days and nights she spoke un-
ceasingly of her own life, her own fate. She talked
more to herself than to me. She went through a kind

142 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

of self-examination, as though seeking the reason why
she must be always suffering and unhappy ; why could
she never get what she wanted — illimitable love —
" Why, why can no one love me ? " she cried, again
and again. " I could be more to a man than most
women — and why are the most insignificant women
loved while I remain unloved ? "

I tried to explain. She asked too much. She was
not one to be content with the kind of love that may
fall to any woman's lot. She was too introspective.
She brooded too much about herself, and had not the
kind of devotion which forgets itself. Her devotion
demanded as much as it gave, and unceasingly worried
itself and its object by considering and weighing all that
it received.

How melancholy was our arrival at Paris ! We had
often pictured it as so bright ! We drove straight from
the station to Nilsson's Library, in order to ask for
letters which we were expecting with impatience. They
had arrived, and gave us sufficient food for thought.
I had only been once before in Paris, and then only for
a short time on my return from London in 1884. I
asked Sonya about the palaces and squares which we
drove past on our way to the hotel near the Place de
l'Etoileybut she answered impatiently, " I do not know.
I know nothing about these places. I cannot tell which
is which."

The Tuileries, the Place de la Concorde, the Palais
d'Industrie, awakened no recollections in her, nor made
any impression. Paris, great and gay, which had always
been her favourite city, the place she would have chosen

LITERARY ENDEAVOURS. 143

to live in had she had the choice, was to her at this
moment a dead mass of dull buildings. She had not
received a letter from him, and only one from a friend
of his whose news was anything but satisfactory — that
was why Paris was dull.

We spent some feverish, strangely restless weeks in
the place where, the year before, Sonya had received so
much adulation and honourable distinction. But now
Paris seemed to have forgotten her. She had had her
*' quart d'heure."

We looked up our friends, made new acquaintances,
and ran about from morning to night, but not as
tourists. Of the city and its sights I saw nothing ; not
even the Eifel Tower. We were only interested in
studying people and theatres, trying to get into the
whirlpool, and to find the necessary stimulus for our
flagging literary interest.

The circle of our acquaintance was varied, and on
some days curiously mixed. All nations and all types
were represented in our rooms. A Russo-Jewish family,
and a French banker's family, lived in the palace of a
former aristocrat. The footmen wore knee-breeches
and silk stockings, and everything was in keeping with
the traditions of aristocratic pomp. Among our friends,
besides, were Swedish and Russian scientists, some of the
latter being ladies ; Polish emigrants and conspirators ;
French literary men and women ; and several Scandina-
vians : Jonas Lie, Walter Runneberg, Knut Wichsell,
Ida Erikson, and other scientists, artists, and authors.

Sonya, of course, called on some of the leading
mathematicians in Paris, and received invitations from

144 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

them. But at the moment her head was full of any-
thing but science, and consequently she was less
interested than usual in such society. Among the
interesting figures in our circle I must specially mention
the afterwards famous Padlevsky. He was a sickly
young man, about whom still lingered the air of a
prison. He spoke French badly. He at once
interested us by the vehemence and enthusiasm with
which he embraced revolutionary principles. He
seemed to us to be boiling with impatience to be
once more in danger. He evidently loved martyr-
dom ; and imprisonment, in which state he had passed
so much of his youth, had no horrors for him. His
father had been executed during the Polish revolution ;
his brother had died a horrible death in the Peter-Paul
Fortress of terrible fame. In order to save her youngest
from a like fate, and get him away from the influence
which had seduced his father and brother, his poor
mother took him to Germany. But all in vain.
Revolution was in his blood, and before he was twenty
he was a political prisoner. He escaped, and passed
through countless adventures. Just now it seemed that
he had nothing in prospect. But he did not conceal his
readiness to fling himself again into the furnace of revolt
at the very first opportunity. These facts of his life I
relate as told to me by Sonya. As a private individual,
Padlevsky was most sweet and winning, gentle and
charming in his ways. He was absolutely without
means of livelihood. Conspiracy was, I believe, his
only profession. But he was constantly the guest of
the richer members of his party.

LITERARY ENDEAVOURS. 145

It was of deep interest to me to make acquaintance
with the strange group of enthusiastic patriots who lost
themselves so entirely in the love of their country ; who
sorrowed so deeply over its misfortunes ; and who so
longed to save it, that what a law-abiding community
called crime was to them a sacred duty.

Just at this time a great English newspaper published
a horrible account of the cruelties which Siberian
prisoners, and among them some highly educated
ladies, had had to undergo.

There was something deeply touching in the sorrow
which the intelligence aroused in the Russo-Polish
clique in Paris. It seemed as though its members had
suffered personally. The bond which unites all the
martyrs of the Czar is so strong that to all intents and
purposes they are but one family.

The centre of that clique was one of Sonya's most
intimate friends ; a woman whom she admired more
than any other, and who impressed her so greatly that
she lost all her critical judgment in regarding her.
Sonya admired this woman with the jealous adoration
so characteristic of her. This friend possessed several
of the qualities which Sonya herself desired and envied :
beauty ; a rare power of fascination ; and an equally rare
talent for dressing in perfect taste. While in Paris,
Sonya used to get this friend to choose her dresses for
her, but they never looked so well on her as on the
charming Pole.

The latter had a gift for attracting a small court of
admirers, who vied with each other in winning a smile
from her. But Sonya admired in this friend least what

ii

146 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

the others admired most : her genius, intelligence, and
courage. A genius not creative in its nature had no
attractions for Sonya.

As to courage, that is, moral courage, Sonya con-
sidered that, if tried as her friend had been, she would
prove equally courageous.

The life which Mdme J lived now that all the

storms of her life were over — for she, too, had passed a
year as a political prisoner — seemed to Sonya the ideal
of happiness. Recently married to a man who adored
her ; surrounded by a sympathising and admiring circle
of friends in whose sight she was a queen ; the mistress
of a hospitable mansion open to all friends ; living in
Paris in the very midst of the intellectual movement of
the time, and inspired by a mission in which she in-
tensely believed, Mdme. J was, in Sonya's opinion,

in a position of supreme and ideal happiness.

In this circle, so sympathetic to her feelings, Sonya
became open-hearted. I had .never seen her so com-
municative except when tete-a-tete. She spoke openly
of her dissatisfaction with life ; of her sterile triumphs
in science. She said she would willingly exchange all
the celebrity she had won, all the triumphs of her
intellect, for the lot of the most insignificant woman
who lived in her proper circle — a circle of which she
was the centre, and in which she was beloved.

But Sonya noticed with some bitterness that no one
believed her statement. All her friends thought her

D

more ambitious than affectionate or sensitive, and they
laughed at her words as though she were but indulging
in one of her paradoxes.

LITERARY ENDEAVOURS. 147

The Norwegian author, Jonas Lie, was the only
person who understood Sonya fully. Once, in a little
speech he made, he showed his comprehension of her so
plainly that she was moved to tears. It was on one of
the pleasantest of our Paris days. We were dining
with Jonas Lie ; and Grieg and his wife, who were just
then enjoying his triumph at Paris, were present.
There was about this little dinner the indescribable
festive feeling which sometimes springs up in a small
circle when each person present is pleased to see the
other, and all feel themselves to be fully understood
and appreciated. Jonas Lie was in high spirits. He
made one speech after the other, bright and sparkling,
and full of imagination, and yet withal — as was his
wont — somewhat involved and obscure. The spon-
taneity and poetic fervour inherent in all his utterances,
gave to his cordiality a special charm. He spoke of
Sonya, not as the great mathematician, nor even as the
successful author, but as the little " Tanja Rajevsky,"
whom he said he had learned to love so truly, and for
whom he felt so great a sympathy. He said he was
so sorry for the poor little misunderstood child who so
longed for tenderness. He doubted, he said, whether
she had ever been understood. Life, he had heard, had
lavished upon her every gift upon which she set no
value ; had given her honours, distinction, and success.
Yet she still stood there with great wide-open eyes.
There she stands, with her empty outstretched hands.
What does she want ? She only wants a friendly
hand to give her an orange. " Thank you, Herr
Lie," Sonya murmured, in accents deeply moved and

148 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

choked with tears. " I have had many speeches made
about me in my life, but never one so beautiful." She
could say no more. She sat down, for she had risen in
the impulse of the moment, and tried to conquer her
emotion by drinking a glass of water.

When we left Lie's house, Sonya was in a brighter
mood than she had been for many a day. She felt
that there existed at least one person who understood
her, though he had seen her but a few times, and knew
nothing of her private circumstances. He had pene-
trated further into her inmost soul by merely reading
her book than her most intimate friends had done,
though they had known her for years. Now, after all,
she felt that there was some pleasure in writing, and,
after all, life was worth living.

We had intended to go straight from Lie's house
to another friend, and not to run home between whiles.
But Sonya was always expecting letters, and was never
happy if away from the hotel for many hours at a time.
So we returned home, making a detour to the hotel in
order to ask the eternal question, Are there any letters ?
The next moment Sonya had clutched the letter which
lay close to the key of our rooms, and rushed up the
flight of stairs.

I followed her slowly, and went straight to my own
room, for I did not want to disturb her. Almost
immediately she came to me, threw her arms around
my neck, laughed, danced round me, and then flung
herself down on the sofa, almost shouting with delight.
" Oh, what happiness ! " she exclaimed. " I cannot
bear it! I shall die of joy ! "

LITERARY ENDEAVOURS. 149

The letter explained away an unfortunate misunder-
standing— one which had worried her for months and
had ''worn her to a shadow. The very next evening
she left Paris in order to meet the man on whom her
whole existence depended.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE FLAME BURNS.

A COUPLE of days after Sonya's departure I
received a few lines from her. Already the spark
of happiness which had flamed up so brightly and
inspired most extravagant hopes, had died out. I have
not kept her letter, but I remember the main contents.
" I see," she wrote, " that he and I will never under-
stand each other. I shall return to my work at Stock-
holm. In future my only consolation will be work."

That was all. During the remainder of that winter
and all next spring I had not a line from her except a
few heartfelt words of congratulation on my marriage
in May.

She suffered ; and avoided showing me her sorrows,
not wishing to disturb my happiness. She could never
make up her mind to write on indifferent matters.
Therefore she kept silence. But this reticence, after
our recent intimacy, wounded me deeply. Afterwards
I well understood that she could not have acted other-
wise.

In the April of that year, 1890, Sonya went to

THE FLAME BURNS. 151

Russia. She had rather expected to be elected a member
of the Academy of Science at St. Petersburg, the most
advantageous position which she could have acquired.
It would have yielded her a large salary, and no duties
beyond a few months' yearly residence in St. Petersburg.
To be a member of the Academy is the greatest honour
to which any Russian scientist can attain. Sonya had
built her hopes on obtaining it. She would have then
been delivered from the insufferable yoke of Stockholm
life, and her wish to settle in Paris could have been
realised.

During our stay in that city she had often said to
me, " If you cannot have the best in life, namely, true
heart-happiness, life may be bearable if you get the next
best thing — an intellectual atmosphere in which you can
breathe and flourish. But to have neither is insuffer-
able." She still fancied that if she could gain this,
she might be reconciled to life. I could not guess
whether her plans would prosper, nor did I ever know
where she was going after leaving St. Petersburg.
She was very mysterious about her plans all that
spring, mentioning them to no one. I met her by
chance, however, in Berlin in the middle of June. I
was then en route for Sweden, whither I was returning
with my husband shortly after our marriage. Sonya
had arrived the same day from St. Petersburg.

I found her in an unnaturally excitable state of mind
— a mood which a stranger might easily have mistaken
for light-heartedness. I knew her too well not to
realise that something crouched behind it. She had been
feted at Helsingfors and St. Petersburg ; she had been

152 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

hurried from place to place ; had met the most interest-
ing people, and had made a speech before a thousand
listeners. She assured me that she had enjoyed herself
immensely, and had good expectations ; but she con-
tinued to be mysterious and to shun all intimacy,
carefully avoiding remaining alone with me, for fear
of being searchingly questioned.

We spent, however, some cheerful days together,
filled with jesting and small-talk. Still she impressed
me painfully, for I saw how nervous and over-excited
she really was, and how utterly out of tune. The only
thing she said to me about her personal concerns was
that she never intended to marry again ; that she would
not be so banal ; she would not do as other women did,
forsake her work and mission in order to marry as soon
as she had a chance. She did not want to leave her
post at Stockholm until she had won such a sure
position as an author that she could support herself by
her writings. She did not deny that she wished to

meet and travel with M , who was to her the best

of friends and comrades.

A few months later we again met at Stockholm,
where she had resumed her lectures in September.
Once more her forced gaiety had vanished. She was
still more out of sorts, and troubled with an increasing
restlessness. I had no opportunity of seeing deeper
into her heart. She hid her feelings from me. She
continued to shun a tete-a-tete, and, on the whole,
showed herself more or less indifferent to all who
formerly had been her most intimate friends. It was
evident that her heart was elsewhere, and that she felt

THE FLAME BURNS. 153

these months at Stockholm as a kind of banishment.
She counted the days that must pass before the Christ-
mas holidays, when she meant to travel. She was in a
desperate condition. She could neither manage to live

with or without M . Thus her life had lost its

balance. She was like an uprooted plant : could not
strike root again, and seemed to wither away.

When my brother removed to Djursholm, in the
villa quarter of Stockholm, he tried to persuade Sonya
to come to the same neighbourhood. She had always
liked to live near him, so that they might meet as often
as possible. But though my brother's removal to new
quarters was a great trial to her, and she felt more
lonely than ever, she could not make up her mind. to
move.

" Who knows how long I shall stay in Stockholm ?
This cannot last for ever !" she often exclaimed. "And
if I am in Stockholm next winter I shall be in such bad
spirits that you will not care to see much of me."

She could not be induced to go and see Mittag
Leffler's new villa, which was being built. She took
no interest in it, and did not wish to enter the new
home of one of her most intimate friends in such a
spirit of indifference. And when those who were
with her went to see the rooms, she insisted on waiting
outside the door.

A feeling of the fleeting, evanescent nature of her
sojourn in Stockholm was growing upon her. She
began to let drop all the ties that bound her to the
place. She neglected her friends, withdrew from
society, and was more than ever indifferent to her

154 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

house and dress. All the inspiration and soul had
even died out of her conversation. The heartfelt
interest she had formerly taken in all spheres of human
life and human thought had faded. She was entirely
engrossed by the tragedy of her life.

CHAPTER XV.

THE END.

THE last time I saw Sonya alive was in the same
year, 1890. She had come to say good-bye to
us at Djursholm before she went to Nice. No fore-
bodings told us that this was to be the last farewell.

My husband, Sonya, and I, had agreed to meet at
Genoa directly after Christmas, so we said but short
farewells. But the plan was not carried out, in conse-
quence of a misdirected telegram which was intended
to meet us on our return to Italy. Whilst Sonya and
her companion were waiting for us, we passed through
the town in which they were staying without knowing
they were there.

New Year's Day — which we had hoped to spend
together — was passed by Sonya and her friend in going
to the lovely marble dwelling of the dead at Genoa.
While there, a sudden shadow flitted across Sonya's
face, and she said with prophetic emphasis : " One of
us will not survive this year, for we have spent its first
day in a burial-ground ! "

A few weeks later Sonya was on her way back to
Stockholm. The voyage she so hated was this time

156 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

not only to be a trying, but also a fatal one. With a
heart wounded once more by the pain of separation,
feeling that the torture was almost killing her, Sonya
sat in the railway carriage lost in despair. These
bitter cold winter days differed so cruelly from the
mild and fragrant air she had left behind in Italy.
The contrast between the Mediterranean and the
northern cold had now become symbolic to her. She
began to hate the cold and darkness as intensely as
she loved sunshine and flowers.

Her journey was also physically more than usually
disagreeable to her. A strange contrariety of fate made
her fail to take the shortest and most convenient route
from Berlin, where she had spent a few days. An
epidemic of smallpox had broken out at Copenhagen,
and as she was mortally afraid of this disease, she would
not risk a single night in that town.

She therefore took the Jong and troublesome route
across the Danish islands. The never-ending change
of trains in bad weather was very likely one of the
causes of the severe chill which she caught.

At Fredericia, where she arrived late at night in
pelting rain and storm, she had no Danish coin by
her, and therefore could not hire a porter ; so she
carried her luggage herself, dead tired and frozen as
she was, and so dispirited that she was ready to faint.
When she arrived at Stockholm on the morning of
February nth, she felt very ill. Nevertheless she
worked the whole of the next day, Thursday, and gave
her lecture on Friday, February 6th. She was always
very plucky, and never missed a lecture if it were

THE END. 157

possible for her to stand. That evening she went to
a party at the Observatory. There she began to feel
feverish, and went away alone, but could not get a cab.
Unpractical as she always was in such matters, and
never knowing her way about Stockholm, she got into
the wrong omnibus, and in consequence had to make
a long detour on that cold raw evening. When she
reached home — alone, helpless, trembling with fever,
with mortal sorrow in her heart, she sat down in the
cold night, feeling the violence of the illness which had
attacked her. That very morning she had told my
brother, who was Rector of the University, that she
must have leave of absence during next April on what-
ever terms she could obtain it.

Each time she had returned to Stockholm her only
consolation in the midst of her despair had been to
make plans for the future. Between times she tried
to numb her sorrow and restlessness by working hard.
She had thought of several new plans, both as concerned
mathematics and literature, and spoke of them with
much interest. To my brother she divulged an idea
of a mathematical work, which he thought would be
the greatest she had yet written. To her friend Ellen
Key, with whom she spent most of these last days, she
spoke of several new novels which she had worked out
in her head. One she had already commenced, and in
it she meant to give a character-sketch of her father.
She had also written two-thirds of another, which was
to be a pendant to 'c Vera Verontzoff." She meant to
call it " A Nihilist," and it was to describe an episode
in Tschernyschevsky's life. The last chapter, which

158 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

she had not yet written, she described to Ellen Key,
who noted it down in the following words : —

" T., from obscurity, has suddenly risen to celebrity
among the young generation by his social revolutionary
novel, entitled, * What are We to Do ? ' At a fete he
has been hailed as the hope and leader of the rising
generation. He has returned to his garret, where he
lives with his beautiful young wife. She is asleep when
he arrives. He goes to the window and looks down
on sleeping St. Petersburg, where lights still glimmer.
He talks, in imagination, to the terrible mighty city.
There it lies — still the home of violence, poverty,
injustice, and oppression. But he will conquer ; he
will breathe his spirit into it. What he thinks, they
all shall gradually come to think ; even as the rising
generation does now. He remembers especially a
deep-souled girl whose sympathy has gone out to
him. He begins to dream, but rouses himself to go
and kiss his wife and tell her of his triumphs, when,
at that moment, he hears a sharp knock at the door.
He opens it, and there stand the gendarmes who have
come to arrest him."

Eagerly as Sonya had often invoked death, she had
at this moment no wish to die. But those friends who
were near her at the last thought her more resigned
than she had been formerly. She no longer yearned
for that complete happiness, the ideal of which had
ever consumed her soul with its burning flame. But
she now longed, with ardent clinging love, for the
broken gleams of the happiness which had of late cast
a light upon her path.

THE END. 159

In her innermost heart she was afraid of the great
unknown. She often said that it was the possibility
of punishment in the other world which alone kept
her back from leaving this one. She had no definite
religious belief, but she believed in the eternal life of
each individual soul. She believed, and she trembled.

She was especially afraid of the awful moment at
which earthly life ends. She often quoted Hamlet's
words : —

" For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause."

With her vivid imagination she pictured those awful
moments which perhaps may occur, when the body,
physically speaking, is dead, but the nervous system
still lives and suffers — suffers a nameless martyrdom —
known by none but they who have taken the dread
leap into the great darkness.

Sonya was anxious to be cremated, because she had
also a fear of being buried alive. She pictured to her-
self how it would be to awaken in her coffin. She
described it in such words as to make all who heard her
shudder.

Her illness was so short and violent that probably she
had no time or power to recall at the last moment all
these sad forebodings. The only thing she said which
suggested that she had any idea of her approaching end,
she uttered on Monday morning, the pth of February,
barely twenty hours before she died. " I shall never get
over this illness," she said.

160 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

And on the evening of the same day she remarked :
" I feel as if a great change had come over me."

But as to the rest, her fear was chiefly that her illness
might be a long one. She had not strength to speak
much, for she had severe pleurisy, high fever, and
breathlessness. She suffered cruel pain, and could not
bear to be alone for a moment.

The last night but one she said to Ellen Key, who
scarcely ever left her : "If you hear me moan in my
sleep, wake me, and help me to change my position,
otherwise I fear it may go ill with me. My mother
died in just such an access of pain."

She had hereditary disease of the heart, and had in
consequence often expressed a hope that she might die
young. This disease, however, was found at the post
mortem to have been of no importance, though it may
have increased the breathlessness caused by the pleurisy.

The friends who were near her during her short
illness cannot say enough about her goodness, gentleness
and patience ; or how unselfish she was, fearing to give
trouble ; and how touching was her gratitude for every
little service rendered.

On Tuesday her little girl was to go to a children's
party, and Sonya interested herself in it to the last,
wishing that her child should not miss this pleasure.
She begged her friends to help her to get what was
required, and when, on Monday evening, the child came
to her mother dressed in a gipsy costume, Sonya smiled
kindly on her little daughter, and hoped she would
enjoy herself. Only a few hours later the child was
roused from her sleep to receive her mother's dying
look which was full of tenderness.

THE END. 161

On the Monday evening both the friends who had
nursed her during the last few days had left her, and a
St. Elizabeth's sister took their place. The doctors did
not apprehend any immediate danger. They seemed
rather to believe the illness would last some time. The
friends, therefore, considered it wiser to forego the
night-nursing, and spare their strength.

At Sonya's own desire they were to rest that night,
as there seemed no special need for their presence. Just
that night the great crisis came.

Sonya lay in deep sleep when her friends left her. But
at two o'clock she awoke. The terrible death-agony
had begun. She showed no sign of consciousness. She
could neither speak nor move, nor even swallow. This
lasted for two hours. Only at the last moment did one
of her friends, summoned tardily by the nurse, arrive.

Alone, alone with a hired stranger, a nurse who did
not even speak her language, she had to struggle
through the last and bitter battle. Who knows what
consolation a beloved voice, the touch of a loving hand,
might have been to Sonya during those two terrible hours ?

I wish even that a Russian priest could have read a
mass to her during that time. With the veneration in
which she still held the Greek religion, and indeed all
memories of her childhood, the familiar words would
have been sweet and calming in her ears if she had been
able to catch them. Could her hands, in their wandering,
have clutched the cross, it might have consoled her ; as
it has so often consoled other dying mortals. To her,
it was ever a much-loved symbol — the symbol of the
sufferings of mankind.

12

i6a SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

But there was nothing — not a word of consolation ;
no help, not even a loving hand to place its cool pres-
sure on her burning brow. Alone in a stranger-country,
with a broken heart and shattered hopes ; trembling,
perhaps, at what she was about to meet ! Thus she
closed her earthly life, " this soul of fire, this soul of
thought."

Out of the hopeless darkness which seemed to enshroud
this death-bed, little by little some gleams of hope have
come to me. It matters not whether life be long
or short ; all depends on what it has contained for
oneself and for others ; and, from this point of view,
Sonya's life had been longer than most. She had lived
intensely ; she had drained the cup both of sorrow and
of joy. She had quenched the thirst of her spirit at the
wells of wisdom. She had risen to the heights to which
genius and imagination alone can carry the soul. To
others she had given unstintingly of her knowledge, ex-
perience, imagination and feeling. She had spoken with
the inspiring voice which genius alone possesses when
it does not isolate itself in selfish retirement. No one
who knew her could remain unmoved by the influence
ever exercised by the keen intellect and glowing feeling
which spread sunshine and growth around. Her mind
was fertile because her intellect was unselfish. Her
highest aspiration was to live in mental union with
another.

If there was much that was fantastic and superstitious
in her forebodings and dreams, it is nevertheless true
that there was much in her of the " seer." When her
shortsighted eyes, luminous with genius, were fastened on

THE END. 163

the person to whom she spoke, one felt that they pene-
trated the very soul. How often did she, with a look,
pierce through the mask beneath which Jess sagacious
glances had failed to discover the real countenance.
How often would she divine the secret motives that
were hidden from others, and even unrevealed to their
very owner. It was her poet-soul which thus became
in her the seer. A chance word, a single insignificant
episode, which she came across, could reveal to her the
whole connection between cause and effect ; and enable
her to develop them into the story of a whole life.
It was this connection for which her soul was always
searching ; connectedness in the world of thought and
between the varied phenomena of life. She even sought
for the unknown connection between these phenomena
and the laws of thought.

It was a never-ending source of grief to her that in
this world " we can only see in part, and only know in
part." Thus it was that she loved to dream about
another and a higher life, of which the apostle so
beautifully says, " Now we see through a glass darkly,
but then face to face." To perceive oneness in the
manifold, was the aim of her scientific and poetic mind.
But ah ! has she attained this now ? The possibility,
dim and uncertain as it is, makes the brain reel ;
but it makes one breathe more freely, and makes the
heart beat with a fluttering hope that takes away the
sting of death.

Sonya had always wished to die young. In spite of
the inexhaustible freshness of mind which made her
ever ready to receive new impressions, to drink from

164 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

fresh sources of pleasure and find enjoyment in trifles,
there was still in her mind and soul a longing which
life could never satisfy. She sought for unity in the
world of thought, and longed for it also in the world of
feeling.

Just as her intellect craved absolute clearness of
thought and absolute truth, so her heart craved that
perfect love and union which the limitations of life, and
more especially the limitations of her own nature,
rendered impossible.

It was the impossibility of harmonising and fulfilling
all the desires of such a nature as hers that wrecked her
life. And in this light we can look upon her death
with less sadness.

Starting from her own belief in a deep relationship
between the different phenomena of life, one cannot fail
to understand that death was, as it were, the natural
outcome of it all. It was not merely that destructive
and fatal microbes had settled on her lungs ; and not
even because life could never give her the joys for which
she craved. But, also, the necessary organic relation-
ship between her inner and outer being was wanting ;
the link between the worlds of thought and feeling,
between her temperament and disposition, was lacking.
She saw, as it were, " as when that which is perfect is
come," but she acted only " in part."

If there be a world in which these contrasts are
harmonised, truly she must be happy now. If not-
then she has gained the desired harmony in another
way, because in complete rest there is also harmony.

A death has seldom awakened so great and so general

THE END. 165

a regret as did that of Sonya. From nearly all quarters
of the civilised world telegrams of condolence reached
the Stockholm University. From the highly conserva-
tive University of St. Petersburg, of which she had been
made a corresponding member during the last year of
her life, down to the Sunday school in Tiflis and the
Kindergarten in Charkow, all joined in showing honour
to her memory.

The women of Russia decided to raise a monument
over her grave in Stockholm. At her burial, carriage-
loads of flowers covered the dark newly-turned earth
among the snow-drifts in the Stockholm cemetery.
All the papers and reviews contained honourable men-
tion of the unique woman who beyond all others had
brought honour on her sex.

But, out from all these signs of homage, these
tributes of esteem, one picture stands by itself. Sonya
will be for posterity what she least wished to be — a
marvel of mental development and brain power ;
or, if you will, a kind of giantess of such extra-
ordinary proportions that you regard her with wonder
and admiration.

I have, perhaps, in describing her life, in unveiling its
mistakes and weaknesses, its sorrows and humiliations,
as well as its greatness and its triumph, reduced too
much its true dimensions. What I had in mind was to
depict Sonya as I knew her, and as she wished to be
known and understood. I have, above all, sought to
emphasise the human traits in the picture, and in this
way place its subject nearer to the level of other women ;
to make her one of them ; not an exception to, but a

i66 SONYA KOVALEVSKY.

proof of, the rule that the life of the heart is the most
important, not only for women, but for the whole of
the human race. At this central focus of all humanity,
the most and the least gifted may ever meet.

FINIS.

APPENDIX.

A YEAR before the date of the Introduction to this
biography, the Duchess of Cajanello published in the
" Annali di Matematica pura ed applicata " a notice on Sonya
Kovalevsky, from which we quote some interesting facts not
detailed in the memoir now given to our English readers.

Sonya Vassilievna Corvin Krukovsky was born at Moscow
on the 1 5th of January, 1850. Her father was a general of
artillery, marshal of the nobility of the Government of Viteb,
and belonged to the ancient aristocracy of the country. Her
mother was niece of the celebrated astronomer Schubert.
The family of Corvin was directly descended from King
Matthias Corvin, the hero of Hungary.

The ancient feudal castle in the Government of Viteb,
where Sonya grew up, was far distant from any city, and
had no communication with the outer world except by means
of wretched country roads, which traversed enormous steppes,
and, at certain seasons of the year, were absolutely im-
practicable. About Sonya's paternal abode, Castle Palibino,
the wolves howled on winter nights, and bears wandered
in the dense forests that formed a natural park around it.
Here the imaginative girl dreamed not only of the big
unknown world without its boundaries, but also of vast
unknown spaces of other horizons, already divined by her
precocious mind.

In this castle there was a chamber the walls of which were
papered with nothing but old newspapers, among which there

167

1 68 APPENDIX.

happened to be some lithographs of Ostrogradski's lectures
on the differential and integral calculi, which her father had
studied in his youth. These lithographs, with their strange
formulas, attracted the attention of the little Sonya.

She stood for hours together before the mysterious wall, try-
ing to find out the meaning of certain phrases, or the order
in which the drawings ought to follow each other. In this
way the exterior appearance of some formulas fixed themselves
on her memory, and the text itself left a profound trace on
her brain. So that when she took her first lessons on the
differential calculus with her professor, he was astounded at
the rapidity with which she appropriated the ideas and
methods connected with such studies.

She had also read a work on physics which she found among
her father's books, the author of which was a friend of the
General, and one day, when this friend was on a visit to the
castle, Sonya told him that she had been studying his work.
He laughed at her, saying that that was impossible, for she
knew nothing of trigonometry.

But, in the conversation which followed, it soon appeared
that the girl had constructed for herself, from what knowledge
she already possessed, the fundamental formula of trigonometry.
Amazed at such a proof of intelligence, her father's friend in-
duced the former to allow Sonya to take lessons, in spite of
the conservative and aristocratic idea of what it was allowable
to a girl of noble family to learn. The General consented,
thinking this passion for study a mere caprice. But when, at
the age of fifteen, Sonya seriously requested his permission to
go and study in a German university, there was a terrible
family scene. Her father could not have taken it worse, had
his daughter committed some crime.

In order to understand this, it must be remembered that at
that epoch a Russian girl who studied was almost looked upon
as a Nihilist. A political and patriotic enthusiasm for study
had invaded the young generation ; there was a great striving

APPENDIX. 169

towards light and liberty. And this enthusiasm had produced
a very curious phenomenon : fictitious marriages were all the
fashion, their aim being to free the Russian girls from paternal
authority and enable them to study abroad. Thus Sonya,
when still almost a child, was legally married to Vladimir
Kovalevsky, with the understanding that they were to be no
more to each other than fellow-students. With her sister and
a female friend she went to Germany, where the three girls
studied in one university and Kovalevsky in another. At
that time Heidelberg was the only university open to women ;
now all are closed to the sex, so that when Sonya Kovalevsky
was already a professor at Stockholm, and wished to hear a
lecture at the Berlin University, the permission was at first
refused, but afterwards obtained, through the intervention of
the Minister of Instruction, as a great personal favour.

Sonya's first master was Professor Koenigsberger. After
having attended his lectures for two years, she went to Berlin
at the end of 1870, and took private lessons with Professor
Weierstrass during four years, interrupted only by visits to her
family in Russia and other journeys. In the year 1874 she
received a degree from the Gottingen University. Her chief
thesis, "Zur Theorie der partiellen Differenzialgleichungen,"
is considered to be one of the most important ever written on
the subject. Another, " Ueber die Reduction einer bestimmten
klasse Abel'schar Integrale 3ten Ranges auf elliptische In-
tegrale," was published entire ten years later in the Acta
Afathematica.

Her studies finished, Sonya returned with her husband,
who had also obtained his degree, to Russia, where Vladimir
was nominated Professor of Paleontology at the Moscow
University. It was then that the two actually became man
and wife. Sonya shortly became a mother, and for several
years all mathematics were completely put out of sight.
During these first years of married life Sonya was exclusively
a wife and a mother. With her extraordinary capacity for

1 70 APPENDIX.

sharing in the interests of those with whom she lived, she now
studied her husband's science with such assiduity that, for some
time, when he was occupied with business affairs, she wrote
all his lectures for him.

But she lived in literary circles, and by degrees her latent
taste for literature was aroused, and she wrote a romance
entitled " The Private-decent," representing university life
in Russia, which was published as an appendix in a Russian
journal.

But this period of calm lasted a very short time. Sonya's
husband was enticed into speculations of a dangerous character,
and Sonya's patrimony was in peril. Although the Russian
law would have enabled her to refuse her husband the right of
disposing of her property, Sonya did nothing but try to oppose
her influence to that of the adventurer who was ruining him.
She failed, and broken-hearted at the ruin, not only of her
prosperity, but of her life's happiness, she left her little girl to
the care of a friend, abandoned her home and country, and
went to study in Paris in the Quartier Latin, where the
terrible news reached her that her husband had not had the
courage to outlive the disgrace he had drawn upon his family
and his name. Struck by sorrow, and all alone, Sonya, who
had been reared in luxury and total ignorance of all economy,
had now to provide the necessaries of life for herself and child.
In her own country nothing better offered than the post of
mistress of arithmetic in the inferior classes of a female school.

The University of Stockholm had been recently opened,
founded on private means. Mittag Leffler was one of the
first three professors nominated. He was an enthusiast for
the new institution in his native city, and cherished the idea
of doing honour to it by attracting to it the unique woman
who had shown such scientific genius. On his invitation
Sonya went to Stockholm in the autumn of 1883, and began
a course of free lectures in the German language on the
theory of partial differential equations. Meanwhile Mittag

APPENDIX. 171

Leffler succeeded in collecting means for creating specially for
her a chair of superior mathematics.

In the commemoration made by Mittag Leffler, as Rector of
the Stockholm University, after the death of Sonya, he thus
speaks of her influence on her students : —

"She came to us from the centre of modern science full of
faith and enthusiasm for the ideas of her great master of
Berlin, the venerable old man who has outlived his favourite
pupil. Her works, which all belonged to the same order of
ideas, have shown, by new discoveries, the power of Weier-
strass's system. We know with what inspiriting zeal she
explained these ideas, what importance she attributed to them
in resolving the most difficult problems. And how willingly
she gave the riches of her knowledge, the genial divinations
of her mind, to each student who had the will and the power
to receive them ! Her simple personality, free from any trace
of scientific affectation, and the eagerness with which she
sought to comprehend the individuality of every man, induced
all her students to confide to her, almost at the first meeting,
their own most hidden thoughts and sentiments ; their
scientific doubts and 'hopes ; their hesitancies before new
systems ; their sorrows, disillusions, and dreams of happiness.
With such qualities she entered on her teaching, and on such
bases she founded her relations to her scholars."

During the first years of her stay at Stockholm Sonya
occupied herself with the study of the theory of the propaga-
tion of light through crystals. On this she published a note
in the Comptes Rendus^ which was translated into Swedish ; and
she afterwards enlarged on the subject in a more extensive
memoir in the Acta Mathematica.

She wrote another work on Lame's theory of elasticity, and,
taking up the interrupted thread of former investigations, she
also finished a work on the rings of Saturn. Meanwhile she
had sent a thesis to the French Academy in 1887, in competi-
tion for the Bordin prize " To perfect in some important

172 APPENDIX.

points the theory of the movement of a rigid body." With
Russian fatalism she had let a year slip by before commencing
her work, and spent the precious time in composing two dramas
in collaboration with the writer of this notice, whose literary
occupations had attracted her, for she always felt the influence
of the surrounding intellectual atmosphere in which she
happened to be placed. The two above-mentioned dramas
treated of " fidelity to oneself and to the essentials of life, or
the abandonment of the essential in the chase of exterior and
superficial success." Thus the work was entitled "The
Struggle for Happiness." When remonstrated with on losing
her time in this work, Sonya would say, " It does not matter ;
I know that I shall be ready in time."

In the spring of 1888 she began seriously to occupy herself
with her thesis, working for whole nights together, and on
Christmas Eve of that year the prize was awarded to her by
the French Academy. The work appeared so notable to the
Academy that, before publishing the list containing the name
of the author, the prize had been raised from three thousand to
five thousand francs. In resolving a new case of the problem
of the movement of a rigid body, Sonya Kovalevsky had added
her name to the great ones of Lagrange, Poisson, and Jacobi.
Besides the thesis presented to the French Academy, she wrote
two others on the same argument, both published in the Acta
Mathematica. In the same year (1890) she also published
some observations on a theory of Bruns, published in the same
journal.

After the fatigue she had endured at this time, Sonya's
scientific genius seemed to be temporarily exhausted. She
returned to literature more seriously than ever. She had, since
years, longed to leave the solitary world of science and enter
the literary field, more fertile in personal joys. But the need
of sympathy and intellectual ties with others was so strong in
her, that almost she could not work alone. She possessed no
aristocratic carelessness of the appreciation of her contempo-

APPENDIX. 173

raries and personal friends. Rather she had an ardent desire
to be understood and esteemed in every step she took, in every
thought that occurred to her. It was not vanity or love of
outward honours ; she had had enough of those to be aware of
their emptiness, and was of too deep a nature to be satisfied by
them. It was the essentially feminine need of being loved,
and to provoke, not only admiration but joy among a large
circle of friends, and the general public. Thus literature
appeared to her more and more pleasing the older she grew,
solitude weighed on her more, and the longing for sympathy
became so acute as to cause her intense suffering.

But she did not only demand and desire sympathy ; she had
a unique capacity for giving it to others. Her conversation
was as spirituelle and attractive as only that of a Russian can
be ; but though she spoke willingly and much, she was at
the same time an excellent listener, who gazed with her
bright but short-sighted eyes into those of her interlocutor,
and drew out his words with little impatient exclamations. If
she approved what the other said, found a judgment just or
an idea original, she received it with jubilee. If, on the
other hand, she disapproved, she criticised what she had just
heard with expressions which were very biting and often
paradoxical. She never showed contempt, or opposed pre-
judices to ardent thoughts. She had a large way of looking at
all the questions of life ; and so pliable a mind, that she never
stopped at a system of ideas once acquired, but always collected
new ones and rushed forward to new conquests. In her
manners she was always the grande dame^ and at the same
time always simple and natural. She detested all exterior
appearance of emancipation, and felt much more flattered if
any one complimented her on her dress or amiability than if
they admired her for her learning. In her young years she
was really beautiful, but latterly her long wakeful nights of
study, and her many sorrows, had left heavy traces on her fine
and regular features.

i74 APPENDIX.

In the romance " The Sisters Rajevsky," the first she
published in her own name, she related the story of her
childhood in such vivid and true colours, with such finesse
of observation and sentiment, that it at once obtained the
success she so much desired — that of being personally under-
stood, and of arousing sympathy in others. The publication
of this romance in Russia, Sweden, Norway, and Denmark, was
saluted as a literary event, and it was said that a new Tolstoi
was born to Russia.

This felicitous entrance into the literary career stimulated
Sonya's fertile imagination, which, besides, was aided by an
exceptionally rich experience of outer and inner life, and four
or five new literary works germinated contemporaneously
within her mind. While yet a mere child, but already an
acute observer, she had witnessed the great crisis of the
liberation of the Russian serfs. In her romance " The
VorontzofF Family," she tells the impression produced on the
noble proprietors by this crisis. The daughter of one of
these proprietors becomes a Nihilist, and is taken a prisoner
to Siberia. The author read this book aloud to a scientific
circle in Stockholm shortly before her death, and produced
great enthusiasm. Fortunately the manuscript was found
complete, and will be published.

Of another romance, the " Vae Victis," only one chapter
was published. Its fundamental conception reveals, more than
any other work, its author's nature. Few women have been
so much observed, feted, admired, and covered with honour
as Sonya Kovalevsky. Nevertheless, is this romance, which
would, if finished, have become the true story of her inner
life, she sings the praise of the conquered ; because she felt
herself, in spite of the applause which surrounded her, as one
defeated in the struggle for happiness ; the true happiness, which,
for her, consisted exclusively in love ; in the life in two^ the
want of which, all alone in a strange country, she so bitterly
lamented.

APPENDIX. 175

According to what Mittag Leffler says, Sonya had not
thought of abandoning scientific study entirely. In the last
conversation she had with him, the day before she was taken
with her short and fetal illness, she told him of a plan for a new
mathematical work, which she believed would be the most
important she had ever written. According to her usual
manner, considering herself gifted with second sight in all
intellectual things, she said she had divined the solution of
certain profound enigmas, which would open out a new path
in the field of thought.

Sonya was, indeed, gifted in a high degree with this second
sight, even as regards the actual occurrences of life.

She knew beforehand all that was to happen to her of
importance, and on the last New Year's Day of her life, when
she visited the Genoese cemetery in company with some
Russian friends, she said, " One of us will die this year."
After two months' holiday on the Mediterranean she returned
northwards at the beginning of February. The cold was
extraordinary, and she suffered much during the journey.
She had given only one lesson at the University when she
was attacked with violent inflammation of the lungs, which
in three days destroyed her intense and flourishing vitality.

Rarely has a death aroused such universal regret. Telegrams
reached Stockholm from all parts of the world. Sonya's bier
was followed by three carriages full of flowers, which were put
on the snow that swiftly covered her grave. It was a quite
southern luxuriance in the midst of the northern frost which
had killed her. But she would gladly have exchanged all the
splendour of flowers, which surrounded her in life and in death,
for a modest flower from northern fields, which was missing
amid this exotic pomp : the flower forget-me-not^ the symbol
of the entire gift of a heart.

VERSES WRITTEN ON SONTA KO^ALE^SKT, AFTER
HER DEATH, BT F. LEFFLER.

Sj'al af eld och sjal af tankar,
Har Ditt luftskepp lyftat ankar
Nu att stjarnerymder ploja
Evigt, dar Du fbrr sags droja
Mangen gang, dit stadd pa spaning
Ofver varldssystemets daning
Hog din tanke lyfte vingen,
Nar i stjarneklara kvallen
Strala sags Saturnus-ringen
Pa den dunkelblaa pallen ?

Manne ifran hogre zoner
Analytiska funktioner
Svaret nu dig finna lata
Pa ododlighetens glta ?

Ljusets stralar fran det hoga
Sag Du forr med forskarns oga
Mot kristallegrund sig bryta.
Huru ser Du nu dem flyta ?

Fran de ljusa hiralavarldar
Ofta nog du blicken vande
Ocksa ned till morkrets hardar,
Till var egen jords elande.
Dar ocksa i hoppets stunder
Sag Du mot kristallegrunder
— Utaf kdrlek — ljus sig bryta
Och med morkret valdet byta.

Sjal af eld och sjal af tankar,
Tryggast fann Du karleks ankar.

* * * *

Sa farval och tack ! Ej tacke
Tungt den svenska jord det unga
Lif, sora liimnas nu at grafvens
Langa, ljufva h'agn ! — Sa lange
Som Saturnus-ringen svanger
Sig pa fard bland ljusa viirldar
Och an lefva miin, Ditt minne
Malas skall bland stora sjalars.
176

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L cm ercicr £ravure Par

Printed tv Lfrterc icr Par-.s

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY

(FROM THE SWEDISH).

The Original MS. of this work was written in Russian by
SONYA KOVALEVSKY,

and is an Account by her of her Own Life and that of her Sister
under the fictitious name of Raj ev sky.

TRANSLATED BY A. M. CLIVE BAYLEY.

CHAPTER I.

TANJA RAJEVSKY'S earliest reminiscences were
all connected, somehow or other, with journeys or
with adventures which occurred on her travels. When
in later life she sometimes sat with closed eyes trying
to recall the first conscious impressions of her life, a
broad dusty road would stretch itself out before her,
bordered on either side with birches and mile-posts.
On it was a huge travelling carriage large enough to
contain a Noah's ark. From this monotonous, sombre
background there stood out, like bright points upon it,
memories of various incidents — such as picking up
stones on the road while they waited at different sta-
tions, or of throwing her eldest sister Anyuta's doll
out of the window. There were nights, too, at the
post-stations, with improvised beds on small, hard sofas,
or perhaps merely on chairs which were placed together
for the purpose.

Tanja's father, Ivan Sergevitsch Rajevsky, was a
general of artillery, and had often, owing to the
exigencies of the service, to move from one place to
another ; and, as a rule, his family always followed
him

179

i8o THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

Kaluga was one of the places where the Rajevskys
stayed somewhat longer than in other towns. Tanja
was then five years old, and of this period of her life
she has a clear and vivid memory.

The Rajevskys had two children besides Tanja ; the
eldest, Anyuta, was then twelve years old, and the
youngest, Fedja, was a boy of three.

The nursery was a large, low room, so low that
when Njanja (as the Russian nurse is generally called)
stood on a chair, she could without much difficulty
reach the ceiling. All three children slept in the nur-
sery. There was certainly some talk of Anyuta moving
to the governess's room — that horrid Frenchwoman, as
the children called her. But Anyuta had no intention
of being without the others.

The three beds, with latticed sides, stood side by-
side, so that in the morning the children could creep
from one to another without touching the ground with
their feet. A little way off was Njanja's bed, piled up
with a whole mountain of bolsters and pillows. This
was Njanja's pride. Sometimes in the daytime, when
she was in a good humour, she gave the children leave
to jump and roll upon it. They climbed on to it with
the help of chairs, but scarcely had they succeeded in
boarding the top of the pile than it gave way under
their weight, and they sunk down in a perfect ocean of
pillows to their great delight and happiness. In the
nursery there was always a peculiar smell, a mixture of
incense, of reeking tallow smoke, and of coarse fir oil
and birch balsam, which Njanja used for her rheuma-
tism. The governess, that horrid Frenchwoman, could

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 181

never come into the nursery without holding her hand-
kerchief to her nose and mouth in disgust.

" Do open the window, Njanja," she would say in
broken Russian.

Njanja received this injunction as a personal insult.

" What nonsense she does talk ! that heathen
foreigner ! Am I to open the window and give the
children cold ? " she grumbled, as the governess left
the room. Regularly every morning there was a
skirmish between Njanja and the governess.

The sun had long been shining into the nursery.
The children gradually opened their sleepy eyes, but
there was no hurry for them to get up or dress them-
selves. Between waking and getting ready to dress
there lay a long interval of play and romp, flinging
pillows, pinching one another's bare legs, and of ceaseless
chatter. A delicious smell of coffee spread itself through
the room. Njanja, only half dressed, and merely having
changed her nightcap for the silk handkerchief which
was her invariable head-dress in the daytime, brought in
a tray with a huge copper coffee-pot. She served the
children, unwashed and uncombed as they were, with
coffee and fresh rolls in their beds. When this meal was
over, it sometimes happened that they fell asleep again
tired out with their play.

But suddenly the nursery door would open with a
noise and a bustle, and on the threshold would stand
the indignant governess.

" What, still in bed, Annetta ! It is eleven. You
will be late again for your lesson ! " she would exclaim
angrily in French.

182 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

" How on earth can you let them sleep so long ? I
shall complain to the General," she would add, turning
to Njanja.

" For mercy's sake, go and complain, you viper ! "
Njanja would mutter after her ; and it took her long to
calm down after the governess had left, grumbling to
herself the while :

" The master's own children, as if they could not
sleep as long as they liked ! She will be too late for
her lesson! What a misfortune to be sure. And you
would have to wait a little ! You can easily manage
that ! "

But notwithstanding her grumbling, Njanja would
find it necessary at last to set about dressing the
children in earnest. It must be owned that however
long her preliminaries might take, the toilettes them-
selves did not take very long. Njanja dabbed a wet
sponge over their faces and hands, drew a jagged comb
through their tangled manes, and put on their clothes,
which not seldom were minus several buttons — and
lo ! they were ready.

Anyuta went down to her lessons with her governess,
and Tanja and Fedja remained in the nursery. Without
troubling about their presence, Njanja swept the floor
with a brush, raising a perfect cloud of dust, spread the
quilts over the little beds, shook down her own pillows,
and looked upon the dusting as done for the day.
Tanja and Fedja sat huddled up on the leather-covered
sofa, through which here and there tufts of horsehair
stuck up. They played together there with their toys.
They were seldom allowed to go out for a walk — only

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 183

when it was specially fine weather, or on great festivals
when Njanja took them to church.

After lessons were over, Anyuta would rush up to
the others. It was much jollier with them than with
her governess, specially as visitors often came to see
Njanja — other nurses or ladies' maids, whom she would
invite to coffee, and from whom they heard a number
of interesting things.

The nursery door would sometimes open, and on the
threshold there would stand a beautiful lady, still young,
and dressed in costly silks. There would be flowers in
her hair, and on her arms and neck glittered bracelets
and necklaces. It was Elena Pavlovna Rajevsky,
Tanja's mother. She would be thus dressed for some
dinner or supper, and had come to say " good-bye " to
the children.

As soon as Anyuta saw her, she would rush up to
her directly, and cover her hands and neck with kisses,
and begin to examine and try on all her trinkets.

" When I am grown up I shall be just as beautiful
and smart as mother," she would say, as she tried on
her mother's necklace and craned up to look at herself
in the little looking-glass on the wall. This always
amused Elena Pavlovna very much.

Sometimes Tanja also lunged to caress her mother
and to climb on her knee. But the attempt invariably
ended in her hurting her mother by her clumsiness, or
by her tearing the fine clothes. So off little Tanja
would rush, and hide herself in some corner. Tanja
thus became somehow shy of her mother, and this shy-
ness was increased by hearing Njanja often say that

1 84 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

Anyuta and Fjeda were Elena Pavlovna's favourites,
and that Tanja was a step-child in the family. Though
she had nursed all three from their birth, Tanja was
somehow or other her special nursling, and she was
highly indignant if any one was, according to her idea,
unjust or hard on the child.

Anyuta was so much older than the other two that it
seemed natural that she should have precedence. She
grew up in uncontrolled freedom, and knew no authority
or restraint. She had free entrance into the drawing-
room, where she from her earliest years, earned the
character of being a charming child, and entertained the
guests with her witty and even saucy sallies and remarks.
Tanja and Fedja, on the other hand, only went into the
reception rooms on great days, and they ate their break-
fast and dinner in the nursery.

Sometimes when there were friends to dinner, and it
came to dessert time, Nastasja, Madame Rajevsky's
maid, would come rushing into the nursery and say :

" Be so good, nurse, and be quick and put on
Fedinka's light blue silk jacket, and bring him into
the dining-room ; her ladyship wants to show him to
the guests."

" And what did the mistress tell you I was to dress
Tanja in ? " nurse would ask in an aggrieved tone of
voice, though she knew quite well beforehand what the
answer would be.

" Tanja is not to go down at all. It is better she
should remain in the nursery, such a little stupid as she
is ! " answered the maid, laughing, knowing well that
she would anger the nurse.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 185

And truly Njanja saw in this desire to show Fedinka
off to the guests a great slight on Tanja. For a long
while after she would go on mumbling from time to
time between her teeth, while she looked sympathisingly
at the child and stroked her hair, saying, " My poor
little one!"

It was evening. Njanja had already put Tanja and
Fedja to bed, but she had not yet taken off the silk
kerchief, the disappearance of which was the sign of
her exchange of work for rest. She sat in the front of
the round table, drinking tea with Nastasja. Twilight
reigned in the room. The smoky flame of the tallow
candle looked only like a yellow blur in the darkness,
for Njanja had long forgotten to snuff it. In the
opposite corner of the room flickered the bluish flame
of the lamp before the picture of the saint, making
fantastic figures on the ceiling and lighting up the
Saviour's hand, which was stretched forth from the
silver robe in benediction. Tanja already heard Fedja's
close even breathing beside her, and over there in the
stove corner she heard the heavy snoring of the nursery-
maid, Fekluscha, of the upturned nose, Njanja's invari-
able scapegoat. She lay on the ground on a piece ot
gray felt, which she spread out every evening, and
which in the daytime was hidden in a cupboard.

Njanja and Nastasja talked together in a loud whisper,
as though they chose to believe the children were all
fast asleep, and they discussed all sorts of family matters
without restraint. But Tanja did not sleep, but, on the
contrary, listened with much attention to all that they
were saying. Much of it she did not understand ;

i86 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

much of it did not interest her. Sometimes she fell
asleep in the middle of some story, without hearing
the end. But the loose ends of the conversation, which
fastened on her mind, came back to her memory in
fantastic pictures, and left indelible traces on her whole
life.

" How could I help loving her better, my darling,
my little dove, than all the others ! " she heard Njanja
say, and Tanja knew well it was of her whom nurse
was speaking. " I nursed and watched over her, and I
only, from the very first. It was not at all the same
with the others. When Anyuta was born, her father
and mother and grandfather and her father's sister never
wearied of her. She was the first, of course. I never
had a moment to nurse her in peace without one or the
other of them coming up and taking her from me,
But with Tanja it was quite a different matter."

At this point of the oft-repeated tale Njanja would
sink her voice mysteriously, which naturally made Tanja
strain her ears more than ever.

"She came into the world at an unlucky moment,
my little dove, that was certain," continued Njanja, in
a half whisper. " Just when she was born, the master
lost a great sum of money playing at the English club.
It was so bad that all her ladyship's diamonds had to
be pawned. How could they at such a moment be glad
that God had sent them a daughter? And they had
both of them so desperately desired a son. My mistress
said to me over and over again, * You will see, Njanja,
you will see, it will be a boy.' She had got everything
ready for a boy, both the crucifix and the cap with its

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 187

light blue rosette. And there was no boy at all, but
only another girl. Her ladyship was so vexed she
would not even look at her once. But then Fedinka
came, and that comforted them."

Njanja told this story so often, and Tanja listened
each time with such intense eagerness, that at last it
was accurately fixed in her memory.

Thanks to suchlike stories, Tanja became convinced
while quite a child that she was not wanted at home,
and this reacted on the development of her whole
character. She became more shy and more reserved
than ever.

If, for example, she had to go into the drawing-
room, she stared round her and looked sulky, clutching
Njanja's skirt tightly all the while with her hands. It
was impossible to get a word out of her. Notwith-
standing all Njanja's encouragements and injunctions,
she maintained an obstinate silence, and stared from
under her hair at all the company with a frightened
and defiant expression like a hunted creature, till
Madame Rajevsky exclaimed in vexation, " Take away
your little savage, Njanja. One is ashamed of her
before strangers. It is just as if she were tongue-tied."

Tanja was very shy with other children also, and
rarely saw any. On the other hand, when she some-
times went out with Njanja and saw street boys and
girls engaged in some noisy game of play, she was
seized with a sudden desire to share their game. But
Njanja never gave her permission. " What are you
thinking about, my darling? How can a little lady
like you play with such vulgar children ? " she would

i88 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

exclaim, in a tone so reproachful and persuasive that
Tanja instantly felt ashamed that she could have
harboured such a wish. Soon she lost all desire or
wish to play with other children. When some little
girl of her own age met her, and wanted to say " How
do you do ? " to her, Tanja never knew what to say,
and stood there thinking, " Will she go soon ? "

Tanja was much happier alone with her Njanja. In
the evening when Fedja had been put to bed and
Anyuta had gone into the drawing-room to the
"grown-ups," she crept on to the sofa by Njanja,
nestled up close to her, and then Njanja would tell
her long tales.

These tales made such a deep impression upon the
child's fancy that no sooner did she lay down to sleep
than they came back to her in her dreams, and the
fearful forms of the " Black death," of were-wolves,
and of twelve- headed serpents overpowered her with
an almost suffocating terror.

About this time a very strange thing happened to
Tanja. She was overcome now and again by a
strange horror. Usually it came over her when she
was alone in the room when it grew dark. She might,
for instance, be playing with her toys, thinking of
nothing, when suddenly she would see a shadow
growing up behind her dark and black, which seemed
to have crept from under the bed or from out of the
corners. It seemed to her as though something strange
had crept into the room, and the neighbourhood of
this new, unknown thing gave her such violent heart-
beating that she would rush out of the room headlong

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 189

to find Njanja, whose company was usually enough to
comfort her. But sometimes it happened that the
unpleasant feeling did not disappear for hours.

Her parents explained it by saying that Tanja was
afraid of the dark ; but this was not really the case.
For in the first place the feeling she experienced was of
a very complicated nature, and much more like anguish
than fear ; and secondly, darkness in itself did not call
it forth, nor any of the circumstances connected with
it, unless it were just the approach of darkness. She
would often be seized by a similar feeling under alto-
gether other circumstances ; as, for instance, if, when
out walking, she came across suddenly a large un-
finished house with bare, unwhitewashed walls and
empty window spaces, or if in summer time she lay
on her back out on the ground and stared up into the
sky.

Other even more serious signs of nervousness began
to show themselves in her, at this time. Among
others an awful horror of all deformity. If she heard
any one speak of children with two heads, or a calf
with three legs, she trembled from head to foot, and
all the following night she invariably dreamed of the
malformation spoken of, and woke Njanja with her
heartrending shrieks.

The very sight of a broken doll excited Tanja's
discomfort. If she accidentally let her doll fall to the
ground, Njanja had to pick it up, and if it were all
right, give it to her again. But if 'on the contrary it
were broken, she had to carry it away so that the child
might not see it. Once Tanja went into a convulsion

190 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

because Anyuta, who found her alone and wanted
to amuse herself at the little one's expense, forced her
to look at a wax doll's head with its eyes knocked out
and dangling from the head.

Tanjawas on the high road to growing up a nervous,
sickly child, when her surroundings suddenly changed,
and a new stage of her existence commenced.

CHAPTER II.

TANJA was about six years old when her father
resigned his post and went back to his paternal
estate at Palibino in the Vitebsk government. A
rumour of the approaching emancipation of the serfs
was just beginning to gather strength, and it was this
which induced General Rajevsky to interest himself
seriously in the management of his estate, which up
to that time he had left in the hands of an agent.

The move to the country was a great change for the
Rajevskys. Their hitherto glad and untroubled life took
at once a more serious colour. Hitherto General
Rajevsky had taken very little notice of his children
and their education, for he considered that this was
the duty of the wife and not of the husband. He had
moreover given Anyuta, in some small degree, more
attention than the others, just because she was older
and also quicker and brighter than the others. He
liked to have a game with her when he could manage
it, and sometimes in winter he took her out sledging
with him, and boasted of her before strangers.

When she sometimes passed all bounds, so that the
family were out of patience with her, and complained
to the General about her, he would generally turn it

192 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

into a joke. But if now and again he looked severe,
she knew very well that he was, as a fact, the first one
to laugh at her sallies.

As far as the younger children were concerned,
General Rajevsky's intercourse with them was confined
to asking Njanja, when he met them, how they were.
He would affectionately pinch their cheeks, to assure
himself that they were round and fat, and he often
took them up in his arms and tossed them in the air.
On high days, when the General had to go to some
official function and was dressed in full parade uniform,
with orders and stars, the children were called into the
drawing-room to see how grand father was ! and this
exhibition gave them all great delight. They jumped
round him and clapped their hands with pleasure, at
the sight of his shining epaulettes and orders.

But shortly after their move to the country an inci-
dent happened which in a most unpleasant way drew
attention to the nursery, and made a deep impression
on the whole house, and not least on Tanja.

Things suddenly began to disappear out of the
children's room — first one thing and then another. If
Njanja wanted something which she had not used for
a time she could never find it, and though she was
quite certain where she had put it, and that she with her
own hands had put it into the cupboard or bureau,
it could not be found. At first every one took it
calmly enough, but it began to happen constantly,
oftener and oftener, until at last valuable things began
to disappear. At last a silver spoon, a gold thimble, and
a knife with a mother-of-pearl handle, disappeared one

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 193

after the other. It was certain there was a thief in the
house. Njanja, who considered herself answerable for
all that belonged to the children, was more unhappy
than any one, and decided, come what might, she would
discover the thief.

Suspicion naturally fastened, first of all, on the
unhappy Fekluscha, already mentioned. It was true
enough that Fekluscha had been for three years in the
nursery, and that Njanja, during all that time, had
noticed nothing wrong in her behaviour. But Njanja
considered this proved nothing. " She was so young
then that she did not know the value of things, but now
she has grown up she is cleverer," she explained. " And
now she has her belongings over in the village, and it is
for them that she appropriates the gentlefolk's goods."

As the outcome of such reflections, Njanja became
firmly convinced of Fekluscha's guilt, and she began to
treat her with more and more severity — and the poor
frightened girl, who instinctively knew that they
suspected her of something, looked more and more
conscious.

But however much Njanja watched Fekluscha, she
never managed to catch her in the act. Yet still new
things disappeared, and those already gone were not
found. One fine day Anyuta's purse suddenly vanished.
It was always kept in Njanja's cupboard, and contained
at least forty roubles, if not more. This last loss
reached General Rajevsky's ears. He instantly called
Njanja to him, and with some severity commanded her
to find the thief instantly. Every one understood it
was no longer a thing to joke about.

194 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

Njanja was in a state of despair. She awakened,
however, at night, to hear a curious smacking of lips
going on in the corner where Fekluscha lay and should
have slept. Filled with suspicion, she quietly put out
her hand for the matches and suddenly lit a candle.
And what did she see ? There sat Fekluscha crouched
on the mat with a large pot of jam between her knees
and gobbling up the jam as fast as she could with the
help of a crust of bread.

It happened, moreover, that some days previously the
housekeeper had complained that a pot of jam had also
disappeared from out of her cupboard.

To jump out of bed and to catch the criminal by
her plait of hair was only the work of a moment for
Njanja.

" Ah ha ! I have caught you at last, you scoundrel !
Where did you get that jam from ? Answer ! " she
screamed, in a voice of thunder, while she roughly
tweaked the girl's plait of hair.

" Dear, sweet Njanja ! I have done nothing, I
swear," howled Fekluscha. " Maria Vasiljevna, the
sempstress, gave me the pot last evening, but she said
particularly that I was not to show it to you."

The truth of this statement nurse greatly doubted.

" Well now, madam, you don't seem to be very good
at the art of lying," said she, with some contempt.
" Is it likely that Maria Vasiljevna should think of
treating you to jam ! "

u Dear, sweet Njanja, I am not lying. I can swear
that I am telling the truth. Ask her yourself. I
heated the irons for her yesterday, and she gave me

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 195

the jam in return. She only said to me, * Don't show
Njanja ; she will only be angry with me for spoiling
you,' " protested Fekluscha still.

" Well, we shall see the first thing to-morrow,"
answered Njanja ; and while waiting for the morning
she locked Fekluscha into a dark cupboard, whence
her sobs sounded during the silence of the long night.
Next morning came the investigation.
Maria Vasiljevna was a sempstress who had lived for
many years in the Rajevsky family. She was not a
serf but a freed woman, and treated with much more
consideration than the other servants. She had her
own room, where she ate by herself and was served
with food from her master's table. She usually carried
herself haughtily, and did not associate with the other
servants. In the family she was much valued on
account of her cleverness with her needle. <f She has
fairy fingers," they used to say. She was supposed
to be past forty ; her face was thin and sickly, with
unnaturally large black eyes. She was not beautiful,
but our elders thought that she had a distingue appear-
ance. One would never believe she was a simple
sempstress. She always dressed neatly and tidily,
and always kept her room nice and well dusted, with
a certain air of elegance about it. In her window
usually stood a few pots with geraniums. The walls
were ornamented with some small cheap pictures, and
on a shelf in the corner were various small bits of
china, swans with gilt beaks, and slippers made of roses,
which gave the children great delight. To the children
especially, Maria Vasiljevna was a person of great

196 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

interest in consequence of the romantic story which
was told about her. In her youth she was a really
strong and lovely girl, and a serf of some rich lady
who had a grown-up son. He was an officer and was
home on leave, and whilst there presented Maria
Vasiljevna with several silver coins. Unfortunately
the old lady came into the servants' room and caught
Maria with the coins in her hand. " Where did you
get those from ? " she asked sternly ; and Maria was
so frightened that instead of answering she put the
pennies into her mouth and swallowed them. She
immediately became ill and fell down with a scream.
It was with difficulty they saved her life, but she Jay
ill for long, and lost from that hour and for ever her
beauty. The old lady died shortly after, and the
young master gave Maria her freedom.

Tanja and Anyuta were always very much interested
in this story of the swallowed money, and they often
besought Maria to tell them how it had happened.

Maria had to come into 'the nursery pretty often,
though she was not on a very good footing with Njanja.
The children also loved running into her room, specially
at twilight, when she was forced, whether she would
or no, to lay aside her work. There she sat by the
window, leaning her head on her hand, singing with a
plaintive voice various old and touching ballads —
" Through the dark valley," or " Dark blossoms, sad
blossoms." It sounded very sad, but to little Tanja
this plaintive sound was specially charming. Sometimes
the singing was interrupted by a violent fit of coughing,
which seemed as if it must rend in sunder her thin,

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 197

feeble chest. She had for many years suffered from a
bad cough.

On the following morning after the scene with
Fekluscha already described, Njanja turned to Maria
with the query, whether or no it was true that she had
given the girl jam. Maria looked at her as though
something extraordinary were going to happen.

" What on earth are you thinking about, dear
Njanja ? I am likely to spoil the girl in that way !
Why, I have no jam for myself! " she exclaimed in an
injured tone.

Now, of course, the matter was clear enough, but
Fekluscha's impudence was so great that, notwithstand-
ing this categorical denial, she continued to protest her
innocence.

" Now, Maria, for Christ's sake, have you forgotten
what you did ? You called me to you yourself yester-
day evening, and thanked me for the irons and gave
me the jam " ; and she sobbed bitterly, her whole body
shaking as though she had ague.

" You mustibe sick, or delirious, Fekluscha," answered
Maria, calmly, without a trace of emotion visible in her
pale, bloodless countenance.

There was no longer the least doubt of Fekluscha's
guilt. She was taken away and shut up in a closet
which was apart from the whole upper storey of the
house.

" You shall sit here, you villain, and you shall have
neither bread nor water till you confess," said Njanja,
as she angrily turned the key twice upon her.

It was, of course, natural that the affair caused the

198 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

greatest commotion in the house. Every single person
among the servants managed to come to Njanja on
some errand or other, to talk over the interesting
matter. The nursery was turned into a regular club
that day,

Fekluscha's father was dead, but her mother lived
in the village near, and was accustomed to come to the
house to help with the wash. She, of course, soon
heard of the matter, and came rushing into the nursery,
making a loud outcry, and swearing her daughter was
innocent.

But the nurse silenced her sharply.

" Be quiet, now, and stop that, madam. Wait till
we see what your daughter has done with the stolen
things," she said severely, throwing such a meaning
look at her that the poor woman was afraid and slunk
shyly away.

The general opinion was decidedly against Fekluscha.
" If she took the jam, she is pretty sure to have
taken the other things."

The feeling was all the stronger because this mys-
terious and repeated thieving, which had been going on
for weeks, lay like a heavy weight on the whole of the
servants, who feared that suspicion might fall on one
or other of them. The discovery of the thief was
therefore a great relief to all.

But Fekluscha would not confess even now. During
the course of the day, Njanja went several times up to
the prison, but she repeated obstinately, " I have stolen
nothing. May God punish Maria, for she has dealt ill
with a fatherless child."

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 199

Madame Rajevsky came that evening into the
nursery.

"Are you not too severe, Njanja, with the poor girl?
Have you given her nothing to eat all day ? " she said,
in a troubled tone.

But Njanja would not hear a. word of mercy.

"What is her ladyship thinking of ! Shall we pity
such a one ? She has allowed honest folk to be sus-
pected for weeks for her thefts, the miserable little
being ! " she answered, so decisively that Madame
Rajevsky, seeing she would not overcome her obsti-
nacy, left the room without effecting the least
amelioration in the little criminal's fate.

On the following day Fekluscha still refused to
confess. Her judge began to feel a certain uneasiness,
but at dinner-time Njanja walked in with a triumphant
air to Madame Rajevsky.

" Our fine bird has confessed ! " she proclaimed with
delight.

" Well, then, where are the things ? " was naturally
enough Madame Rajevsky's first question.

" The little thief has not yet confessed what she has
done with them," answered Njanja, in a troubled tone.
" She talks all sorts of nonsense about forgetting where
they are. But only wait ; if she sits there another
couple of hours or so, she will soon remember."

And sure enough, before the evening -was out,
Fekluscha had made a full confession, and related
circumstantially how she had stolen the things so that
she might sell them later on, but that she got no
opportunity to do so. So she kept them hid for a

200 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

long time under her mat in the corner of her cupboard.
And when she saw they were certain to be found, and
that they were beginning to hunt down the thief, she
got frightened, and at first tried to lay them back in
their places ; but as she could not manage this, she tied
them up in her apron and cast them into a deep pond
on the other side of the estate.

Every one was so anxious to close the disagreeable
business that no one criticised Fekluscha's statement
very keenly. Every one was rather vexed that the
things were all lost, but they were relieved that the
matter was explained.

The criminal was allowed out, and on her confession
followed a short, sharp judgment. She was to have
a good beating and then to be sent home to her
mother.

Notwithstanding Fekluscha's tears and her mother's
protest, the sentence was really carried out, and another
girl was taken as nursery-maid.

After a few weeks order was gradually restored in
the household, and the whole matter began to sink into
oblivion. But one evening all was silent and quiet in
the house. Njanja, after having put the children to
bed, was herself beginning to prepare for bed. All
of a sudden, the nursery door opened softly and mys-
teriously, and the washerwoman Alexandra, Fekluscha's
mother, came in. She alone had stuck out obstinately
against the apparent truth, and was never weary of
affirming her daughter's injured innocence. Many
times she had had hot skirmishes with Njanja over this
subject, until at last the old nurse forbid Alexandra to

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 201

put her nose inside the nursery, and retorted that it
was no use talking sense with foolish women.

But this evening Alexandra looked so strange and
mysterious that Njanja, at the first glance, saw that she
had not come to repeat her usual dull complaints, but
that something new and important was about to happen.

" Look here, Njanja, I have got something funny to
show you," whispered Alexandra, mysteriously, as she
looked carefully round to assure herself no strangers
were near, and she drew from under her apron the
little penknife with the mother-of-pearl handle, the
children's pet treasure, which had been among the
things stolen by Fekluscha, and finally given up for
lost as cast into the pond by her.

At the sight of the penknife Njanja threw up her
hands in astonishment.

" Where did you get that ? " she said eagerly.

" Ah ! that's just the point, where I found it,"
answered Alexandra, slowly, and was then silent for a
moment, evidently enjoying Njanja's emotion. " Philip
Matvjejitsch, the gardener," she began at last, in a
meaning voice, " gave me a pair of old trousers
to mend, and in one of the pockets I found the
knife ! "

This Philip was a German by birth, and stood in
the first ranks of the domestic aristocracy in the house-
hold. He enjoyed fairly high wages ; was unmarried ;
though to an impartial eye he seemed nothing but a fat
and rather disagreeable German, no longer young, with
a red, square beard, still among the women servants he
found favour and was considered a fine fellow.

202 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

Njanja certainly for a few minutes did not know
what to think.

" How on earth did that penknife get into Philip's
hands ? " she asked, altogether crestfallen. " He never
put his foot in the nursery, and it is not possible that
such a person should steal the children's things ! "

Alexandra looked at Njanja for a few seconds silently,
with a long, malicious gaze. Then, leaning forward,
she whispered into her ear a few words, in which Maria
Vasiljevna's name was often heard.

A gleam of intelligence began to penetrate Njanja's
troubled brain.

" Ah ! ha, ha ! Is that how it was ? " she exclaimed,
throwing up her hands. " Oh, you sneak ! you villain !
But wait, we shall catch you ! " she cried, quite wild
with spite.

It turned out later that Alexandra had long had
suspicions about Maria Vasiljevna. She had noticed
that the latter had been more or less taken up with the
gardener.

" Now just think for yourself, if such a fine fellow as
Philip would be likely to play the lover to such an old
maid unless he got something for it. She knew how to
bribe him with presents."

And in truth she soon found out that Maria gave
Philip both things and money. But how on earth
could she prove all that ? And then and there Alexandra
set on foot a regular system of espionage, arranged so
that Maria might have no suspicion of danger. The
penknife was the last link in a long chain of evidence.

The tale was one of great interest, and took every

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 203

one by surprise. In Njanja's mind awoke instantly
that passionate detective instinct which so often lies
slumbering in old women, and which, when roused,
drives them to unravel the most tangled knots, even
of matters in which they have no personal interest
whatsoever. This feeling was strengthened in Njanja
by the conviction that she had sinned against Fek-
luscha, and she desired, if possible, to atone for this
wrong, so between her and Alexandra a solemn bond
and covenant was established against Maria. As the
two were fully convinced of her guilt, they did not
hesitate to adopt extreme measures. They were to
possess themselves of her keys, and to go into her
room on the first opportunity, when she was out, and
search her things.

No sooner said than done ! They proved beyond
doubt that at last they were right in their surmises.
The contents of the drawers confirmed to the full
their suspicions, and proved to the full that the un-
fortunate Maria was guilty of the petty thefts which
had of late caused such a commotion.

" The insolent creature. So she went and bought
jam and bribed poor Fekluscha with it so as to turn the
suspicion on her. What a wicked thing to do ! and
she had not a spark of pity for the child ! " exclaimed
Njanja, in horror and disgust, while she entirely forgot
her own role in the story, and that it was she herself
who, with her severity, had driven Fekluscha to a false
confession.

But one can imagine the extreme indignation of the
servants when the sad truth came to light.

204 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

In the first excitement, General Rajevsky determined
to send for the police and arrest Maria — but out of
consideration for her sickliness and her age, and her
long residence with the family, he let mercy stand for
justice and determined only to dismiss her and send her
back to St. Petersburg.

One would have thought that she would have been,
well pleased with her sentence. She was so clever a
dressmaker, that she had no fear of suffering from want
in St. Petersburg ; and what position could she hope to
hold in the Rajevsky family after such a history ! All
the other servants had formerly been jealous of her,
and had hated her for her pride and stuckupedness.
But she knew, and knew well moreover, how bitter
would be the punishment for her former overbearing-
ness. And yet certainly, however strange it may seemr
she did not rejoice over the General's sentence ; but
begged and prayed for mercy. She clung with particu-
lar affection to the house and to the corner in which
she had so long sat and worked.

" I have not long to live, I know. I shall soon die.
Must I close my days among strangers ? " she asked.

" That is not the real reason," affirmed Njanja.
" She cannot bear to leave the house as long as Philip
is there. She knows very well that if she leaves, she
will never see Philip again. And she must have been
desperately fond of him, or she, who has lived honestly
all her life, would never have done this wicked thing
for his sake in her old age."

As far as Philip was concerned, he came out of the
matter with a whole skin. It may be possible that he

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 265

was speaking the truth when he swore that he had no
suspicion whence the presents which he received from
Maria came. In any case, it was not easy to get so
good a gardener, and one could not leave the garden
<c to the winds and waves," so it was determined that
he should remain as before.

Whether Njanja was right or not in the reasons she
gave for Maria's clinging to the Rajevskys, it is certain
that when the day of her departure came, she rushed
down to the General, and threw herself on her knees
before him.

" Let me remain," she sobbed, " without wages ;
punish me like a slave — but do not send me away ! "

The General was moved by such affection for the
house, but on the other hand he feared that if he for-
gave Maria, it would have a demoralising influence on
the whole household. He was in great perplexity what
to do, when suddenly an idea struck him.

" Listen," he said ; " although thieving is a great
sin, I would forgive you if your sin had been stealing
only. But through you a poor girl has suffered inno-
cently. Remember that it is your fault that Fekluscha
had to undergo the shame of a public flogging. For
her sake I cannot forgive you. If you positively want
to remain here, I can only permit it on the one con-
dition that, in the presence of all the servants, you
ask Fekluscha's pardon and kiss her hand. If you
will submit to that, then, for God's sake, you shall
remain."

Every one expected that Maria would not accept
such terms. How could she, so stuck up as she was,

206 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

humble herself in public before a serf girl, and into the
bargain kiss her hand ?

But to every one's amazement she consented.

Presently the whole establishment assembled in the
house to witness a strange spectacle — Maria Vasiljevna
kissing Fekluscha's hand. The General had given
special orders that it should be done in the most
solemn and public manner, and a crowd of people had
assembled, for every one was anxious to see the sight.
The elders of the family were also there, and the
children had begged to be allowed to witness the
spectacle.

Tanja would never forget the scene which followed.
Fekluscha was quite overcome with the honour which
so unexpectedly fell to her lot, and was even afraid that
Maria would pay her out for this forced humiliation.
She went to the General and begged him to excuse
both her and Maria from the hand-kissing.

" I forgive her willingly," she said, sobbing.

But the General had worked himself up into a con-
viction that it was necessary for him to enforce the
severest justice, and only swore at her. " Go away, you
stupid, and don't meddle in things which do not con-
cern you. It is not for your sake, but for principle
sake, that it is done. If I had sinned against you — I,
your master, mind you — I should have had to kiss your
hand. Do you not understand that ? Now do be quiet
and don't grumble."

The frightened Fekluscha dared no longer make the
least remonstrance, but stood where she was told and
awaited her fate, trembling like a criminal.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 207

Pale as a sheet, Maria threaded her way through the
crowd which opened for her. She moved mechanically
as though in her sleep, but her countenance showed
a fixed determination and such bitter rancour that
every one shivered at the sight of it. Her lips were
bloodless, and pressed convulsively together. She went
close up to Fekluscha — " Forgive me," she cried ; it
sounded like a cry of pain, and she took Fekluscha's
hand and raised it to her lips with an expression of such
hatred as though she would have bitten her. But
suddenly a change came over her countenance, and
froth foamed round her lips. She fell unconscious to
the ground in convulsions and uttering heartrending
screams. Later on it was discovered that she had
formerly been subject to these attacks, a kind of
epilepsy, but had carefully hidden the circumstance
from her employers for fear they should not wish to
keep her. Those of the servants who knew of her
infirmity had, out of loyalty, not mentioned it.

Tanja naturally did not know what an impression
this sudden attack made, for the children were, of
course, at once removed, and they were so frightened
that they themselves were almost hysterical.

But the scene was all the more vividly impressed on
her mind by the effect it produced on the servants. Up
to that moment they had shown themselves exceedingly
bitter and spiteful to Maria. Her conduct seemed to
them so shameful, that they experienced a kind of
pleasure in showing her their contempt and annoying
her in every way. But now all was changed. She
became suddenly invested with the character of a suffer-

208 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

ing victim and an object of general sympathy. Among
the servants a secret protest was raised against the
General for the extreme harshness o/ his sentence.

" Of course she had done wrong," whispered the
other women servants, as they gathered in the nursery to
talk the matter over with Njanja as was usual after any
great commotion in the family. " If the master himself
had punished her, or the mistress beaten her with her
own hand, as is the custom in other houses, it would
not have been so dreadful ; one could bear that. But to
have hit upon such a punishment, making her kiss
Fekluscha's hand so that every one should see her ! who
could stand such a humiliation as that ? "

It was long before Maria became conscious. The fits
continued for some time, one after another. At last
they were obliged to send to the town for a doctor.

Every moment the sympathy for the sick woman
increased, and with it the anger of the servants against
the master and mistress.

During the course of the day Madame Rajevsky
came into the nursery and found Njanja busily employed
making tea, though it was not an ordinary "tea
hour." So she innocently asked, " Whom is that for,
Njanja?"

" For Maria, of course — who else should it be for ?
Can't one spare her a cup of tea when she is ill. We
servants at least have some feeling of Christian
sympathy," Njanja answered, in so angry a tone that
Madame Rajevsky was quite confused and left the
room hastily.

Could this be the same Njanja who only a short time

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 209

before was ready to flog Maria almost to death, if she
had been allowed !

After a few days Maria got better again, to the great
relief of the master and mistress, and continued to live
with the Rajevskys as before. Nothing was said about
what had passed, and she found that no one, even among
the servants, upbraided her with what had happened.

As far as Tanja was concerned, she too felt for Maria
from that day forward a secret sympathy, but mingled
with a certain instinctive aversion, and she never ran
into her room as before. When she met her in the
corridor, she pressed herself against the wall and tried
not to look at her, so frightened was she that Maria
would fall down suddenly on the floor and begin to
struggle and shriek.

Maria probably noticed that the child was estranged
from her, and tried in every possible manner to win
back her former affection. Almost daily she surprised
her with small presents. Now it was a bit of many-
coloured silk, now a new dress for her doll. But it
was no good. The secret aversion remained un-
changed, and Tanja ran off as soon as she was left
alone with Maria.

Besides, Tanja now came under the influence of the
new governess, and that put an end to all intercourse
with the servants.

But once, when Tanja was between seven and eight
years old, she was running along the corridor, past
Maria's door. Suddenly the woman opened the door
and called out, " Come here, little missie, and see what
a beautiful bread bird I have baked for you."

210 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

It was half dark in the long corridor, and no living
creature was there except Tanja and Maria. The sight
of the pale countenance with the unnatural black eyes
frightened Tanja, and instead of answering she rushed
away as fast as she could.

" Ah ! ha ! that is what it is, Miss Tanja despises
me ! " she heard Maria mumble.

She felt as if she had been hit, not so much by the
words as by the tone ; but still she could not stop, and
ran on her way. But when she came into the school-
room and gradually got calm after her fright, Maria's
soft, sad voice sounded in her ears. The whole evening
Tanja was ill at ease. However much she tried to play or
romp, she heard this sad lament which seemed to haunt
her. She could not get Maria out of her head. And
as it always happens about a person whom one has been
unjust to, all of a sudden she seemed to Tanja so good
and kind, that she yearned to go to her. Tanja could
not manage to tell the governess what had happened.
Children are always so loath to speak of their feelings.
As she was, moreover, forbidden to go with the servants,
she knew her conduct would be praised, and she felt
instinctively she would not like to be praised for it.
After tea was over and the children were gone to bed,
she suddenly decided to go to Maria's room instead of
going straight to her bedroom. This was indeed a
great and remarkable sacrifice on her part, for she was
obliged to run quite alone through the pitch-dark
corridor, which she always avoided and was frightened
of at night. But now she took the courage of despera-
tion. She flew as fast as she could run without daring

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 211

to take breath, and rushed like a whirlwind into Maria's
room. Maria had just eaten her evening meal, and as
it was a feast day she was not working, but sat by the
table with its white tablecloth and read in a little book
of pious reflections. A light was burning before the
ikon, and after the fearfully dark corridor the room
appeared to Tanja unusually bright and pleasant, and
herself so good and kind.

" I came to say good-night, dear kind Maria," burst
out Tanja in a breath ; but before she could say more,
Maria had elapsed her in her arms and covered her
with kisses. She kissed her so passionately and so long
that Tanja was again frightened, and began to wonder
how she should ever get away without hurting Maria
again, when a violent coughing fit forced Maria to let
go of the child.

Her cough got worse and worse. "I lie and pant
like a dog at night," she was wont to say of herself,
with a kind of bitter irony. Every day she became
thinner and more transparent, but she withstood every
attempt of Madame Rajevsky's to send for a doctor,
and looked very hurt and provoked if any one talked of
her illness.

Thus she lived on for two or three years, keeping
about to the last moment. Only two days before the
end did she take to her bed, but the death struggle was
very terrible and hard.

By the General's orders she received, according to the
rural idea, a very grand funeral, and not only were all
the servants there, but the family themselves, including
the General. Fekluscha followed her to the very grave

212 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

with many tears. Only Philip the gardener was missing.
Without waiting for her decease, he had some months
previously left the Rajevskys for a better situation some-
where near Dunaburg.

CHAPTER III.

r"T'HE unfortunate episode of Maria Vasiljevna was
1 the prelude to a whole number of unpleasantnesses
which by degrees forced the General to pay a certain
amount of attention to the nursery, with which he had
hitherto troubled himself as little as possible.

As often happens in Russian families, Ivan Rajevsky
suddenly made the unexpected discovery that his children
were far from being brought up in the exemplary manner
which he imagined.

To begin with, one fine day both girls went off, lost
their road, and could not find it till the evening, and
had moreover eaten crackleberries which made them ill
for several days.

This incident showed that the children were watched
in a very lax fashion. After this first discovery others
followed in rapid succession. Every one had till this
moment imagined that Anyuta was a perfect prodigy,
wise and developed beyond her years. Now it was
suddenly discovered that she was not only unbearably
spoiled, but that for a girl of twelve she was woefully
ignorant. She could not even write Russian correctly.

To complete these misfortunes, it was discovered that
the French governess had done something so shocking

213

2i4 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

that it could not be even mentioned in the children's
presence. Dismal indeed were the days which followed.
In after years Tanja recalled them dimly as days of
general domestic misery. In the nursery there was con-
stant worry, tears, and cries. Every one squabbled ;
and it affected every one, innocent or guilty. The
father was furious ; the mother wept. Njanja howled ;
the Frenchwoman wrung her hands and packed her
boxes. Tanja and Anyuta sat still and did not dare to
move, for every one vented their wrath on them, and
each fault was now regarded as a serious sin. None
the less did they listen with curiosity, and not without
some childish glee, to their elders quarrelling ; and they
whispered wonderingly one to another, what would be
the end of all this. General Rajevsky, who did not
believe in half-measures, determined on a thorough
reform of his whole system of training. The French-
woman was sent off. Njanja left the nursery, and was
entrusted with the charge of the linen cupboard. Two
new persons were installed in the house, a Polish tutor
and an English governess.

The tutor proved himself a thoroughly pleasant and
good-natured man, who understood his business to its
very foundation, but he exercised hardly any influence
on the actual training of the children. The governess
brought altogether a new element into the house.
Though she was born in Russia and spoke Russian
fluently, she had retained absolutely the typical peculi-
arities of the Anglo-Saxon race — integrity, endurance,
and the power of carrying a business to its end. These
peculiarities were absolutely opposed to those of the

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 215

family, which explains the extraordinary influence which
she soon acquired.

Directly she entered the house, all her endeavours
were directed to make the children's room into a regular
English nursery, in which she should train up pattern
English misses. But God knows it was not easy to
establish a hot-bed for English " misses " in a Russian
gentleman's home, which for hundreds of years or for
generations back had been accustomed to autocratic
arbitrariness, negligence, and slovenliness. Nevertheless,
thanks to her wonderful indomitableness, she did in
some measure succeed.

The eldest sister Anyuta, who hitherto had been
accustomed to unrestrained freedom, she certainly never
managed to curb. They had two years of incessant
skirmishing and collisions, till at last Anyuta, when she
was fifteen, renounced once for all the governess's care
and control. As the outward visible sign of her
freedom from tutelage, Anyuta's bed was moved from
the nursery to a room close to Madame Rajevsky's, and
from that moment Anyuta considered herself grown-up.
The governess, moreover, took every opportunity of
showing obtrusively that Anyuta's education, however
unsuitable, was no longer any concern of hers, and that
she washed her hands of it entirely.

All the more zealously did she concentrate her efforts
on Tanja, cutting her off from the rest of the family,
endeavouring to shield her from her elder sister's influ-
ence as jealously as though it were the plague. The
arrangements of the huge manorial house favoured her
design, for it was so large that three or four families

2i6 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

might have lived in it as one and the same time without
getting in each other's way. Almost all the ground-
floor, with the exception of a few rooms occupied by
the servants and occasional guests, was at the disposal
of Tanja and her governess.

The upper storey with its reception rooms was occupied
by Madame Rajevsky and Anyuta. Fedja and his tutor
lived in a separate wing, and the General's business room
was on the entresol of a tower which was entirely apart
from the rest of the building. Thus, the different
elements of which the Rajevsky family consisted each
had its own territory without disturbing each other,
the scattered members only assembling at the dinner
table or at supper.

CHAPTER IV.

THE wall clock in the bedroom close to the school-
room struck seven. Each repeated stroke of the
clock brought to Tanja, even through her sleep, the
mournful consciousness that in a few minutes Dunjascha
would come and wake her. But it was so delicious to
sleep that she tried to persuade herself that she had only
imagined she heard the hated seven strokes. She turned
over and drew the sheets closer round her, and hastened
to enjoy the short-lived bliss of the last moments' sleep.
She knew that happiness would soon be ended.

Now the door really creaked, and she heard Dun-
jascha's heavy step as she brought in a bundle of wood.
Then came a series of familiar daily repeated sounds :
the sound of the blocks of wood as they were thrown
on to the ground : the striking of the match, the
crackling of the dry wood as it was broken, the
spluttering and hissing of the flames. Tanja heard it
through her sleep, and it seemed to increase the feeling
of enjoyment and to strengthen the dislike of getting
up from her warm bed. " If I could only sleep for a
moment — one little moment more ! " But the noise of
the flames got louder and louder, till it grew into a con-
tinuous, regular roar.

217

218 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

" It is time to get up, little missie," said a voice in
her ears. And Dunjascha drew down the sheets with a
merciless hand.

Outside it had only just begun to get light, and the
cold winter morning's first rays mingled with the yellow
light of the stearine candle and gave everything a dead,
unreal appearance. Is there anything more unbearable
in all the world than getting up by candlelight? Tanja
sat crouched up in bed, and began mechanically to pull
on her stockings ; but her eyes closed of themselves,
and the hands which held the stocking became still.

From behind the screen, where the governess had her
bed, came a sound of splashing, spluttering, and ener-
getic rubbing.

" Don't dawdle, Tanja. If you are not ready in a
quarter of an hour, you will have to wear the * lazy '
ticket on your back at luncheon," cried the governess's
severe voice in English.

This threat was not one to be played with. Tanja
does not remember any corporal punishment, but her
governess had managed to replace it by a fearful substi-
tute. If Tanja was guilty of any fault, she fastened on
the girl's back a paper on which was written, in big
characters, of what her crime consisted, and thus
adorned she had to appear at the breakfast or dinner
table. This was a punishment which Tanja feared
more than death, and thus the governess's threat had
the effect intended, of driving away every trace of
weariness. She instantly jumped out of bed. Dun-
jascha was already waiting by the wash-stand with a
can of cold water in one hand and a bath towel in

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 219

the other — for Tanja had every morning, in English
fashion, a cold douche. A momentary icy coldness,
and then a feeling as of boiling water rushing through
the veins, and then a most delicious feeling of extra-
ordinary vigour and strength.

Now it was already light. Tanja and her governess
went into the dining-room. The samovar steamed on
the table, the fire crackled in the stove, and the clear
light was reflected many times over in the hard-frozen
window-panes.

Tanja was no longer in the least sleepy. On the
contrary, she felt in such good spirits, so unreasonably
glad and lively, that she longed to make a noise and
laugh and play. Ah, if she had only had some com-
panion, of the same age, with whom she could have
jumped about and romped, and who felt the same over-
powering wealth of young life as herself ! But she had
no such comrade. She drank tea t£te-a-t£te with her
governess, for the other members of her family — even
Anyuta and Fedja — got up later. She felt such a
wild desire to laugh and to be funny, that she made a
mild endeavour to joke with her governess. But un-
fortunately she was at the moment out of temper, a
thing which often happened in the morning as she had
some kind of liver complaint. So she thought it her
duty to quash Tanja's inconvenient access of merriment
with a freezing remark that now it was time to learn,
not to play.

The day began for Tanja invariably with a music
lesson. In the large salon in the upper storey where the
piano stood, it was so cold that her fingers were almost

220 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

numbed with frost, and so swollen that her nails looked
like blue spots.

One and a half hour's scales and exercises, accom-
panied by the monotonous tap of the governess's time-
beating, chilled, as may be well imagined, all the life and
spirit with which Tanja began the day. After music
followed other lessons. As long as Anyuta shared them,
Tanja took great pleasure in them, though she was so
small that she could hardly have any real instruction.
But she had begged leave to be present at her sister's
lessons, and listened to them with such attention, that it
often happened that when the fourteen-year-old Anyuta
had by the next time forgotten the whole lesson, the
little seven-year-old Tanja remembered every word, and
solemnly repeated it all for her elder sister, which small
triumph was a great delight to Tanja. But now that
Anyuta had closed her school days and stepped into all
the rights of " grown-up " dignity, the lessons had lost
half their charm for Tanja. She studied pretty dili-
gently, but how much more willingly would she have
striven if she had had a companion.

Twelve o'clock was the hour of the mid-day meal.
After they had finished the last mouthful, the governess
went to the window to look at the weather. Tanja
followed her with beating heart, as the question was one
of great importance to her. If the thermometer showed
more than ten degrees of frost (R.), and if there was no
wind, then she had before her the melancholy prospect
of a walk with her governess, for an hour and a half up
and down the snow-swept paths. But if, luckily for
her, it was cold, or there was a wind, the governess went

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 221

out alone for what she considered her indispensable walk,
and Tanja was sent to the drawing-room upstairs to
exercise herself playing at ball.

Tanja did not appreciate playing at ball alone. She
was just twelve, thought herself a big girl, and con-
sidered it insulting that her governess should really
think she could enjoy herself in such a childish way.
But none the less, she accepted the governess's order
with pleasure, as it gave her an hour and a half's
freedom.

The upper storey belonged specially to Madame
Rajevsky and Anyuta, but at that hour both of them
were in their own room, and there was not a soul in
the big room. Tanja ran round the room a few times,
kicking the ball before her, but her thoughts were far
away. Like most children brought up alone, she had
her world of dreams and fantasies of which her parents
never dreamt. She loved poetry passionately ; the form
and rhythm gave her a strange enjoyment. She devoured
greedily whatever Russian poets she could get hold of;
the more inflated, of course, and the more high-flown
they were, the better they suited her. She had till
then, moreover, had little opportunity of educating her
taste. Schukofski's ballads were for long the only
production of Russian poetry which she knew. There
was no one in the family who interested themselves in
this kind of literature, and even though there was a
fairly large library, it consisted almost wholly of foreign
books. Neither Puschkin, Lermontof, nor Nekrasof
\wtre represented in it. Tanja could never forget, later,
the day when she first held in her hand Filonof s

222 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

anthology, which had been bought at the teacher's
express request. It was a veritable revelation for her.
During the course of the few days after she got it, she
went about as though out of her senses, mumbling
half aloud to herself strophes out of Lermontofs
"Mtsyri" and Puschkin's "Prisoners in Kaukasus,"
till the governess at last lost patience and threatened
to take from her her precious book.

Verse-writing had always attracted Tanja to such a
high degree that from her fifth year she had written
verses. But this occupation was not approved by the
governess. She had ever before her the picture of the
normal, healthy child, who was to develop into an
exemplary English Miss, and verse-writing did not at
all fit into that scheme. She therefore punished all
Tanja's attempts at verse mercilessly. If by ill-luck she
found a whole budget of Tanja's verses, she fastened
the papers round the child's neck, and moreover read
aloud several of the unlucky verses to Anyuta and
Fedja, of course making fun of them the while and
distorting them.

But the punishment was of little good. When Tanja
was twelve years old she was quite sure she was going
to be a poetess. For fear of her governess, she dared
no longer write down her verses, but she composed
them in her head, like the ancient bards, and confided
them to her ball. Bowling it before her, she was wont
to run round the room declaiming in a loud voice two
pieces of which she was specially proud — " The Bedouin
and his Horse," and the " Seaman's Feeling when Diving
after Pearls." She had also in her head another long

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 223

poem, "The Whirlpool," something between "Undine"
and *c Mtsyri," but of which the first ten verses only
were ready, and there were to be one hundred and
twenty. Tanja did not lose courage, for she believed
firmly and fully that this poem would in time become
one of the gems of Russian literature.

But the Muses are, one knows, capricious, and they
did not always grant the poetic inspiration just when
Tanja was tired of playing with her ball. And as the
Muses did not come when called, Tanja was put into a
hazardous position, temptation besetting her on every
side.

Near the drawing-room was a large library, and on
the table and on all the sofas were strewn Russian
magazines and foreign novels of the most fascinating
kind. Tanja had been severely forbidden to touch
them, for the governess was most strict as to what
books she read.

Sonya had not many children's books, but those she
had she knew by heart. The governess never allowed
her to read any kind of book, even if it were specially
written for children, without looking through it her-
self ; and as she read rather slowly, and seldom thought
she had time for such things, Tanja was often subject,
so to speak, to a chronic state of famine. And when
she suddenly found all this wealth of books within
reach, how could she withstand the temptation.

She fought some moments with herself. She drew
near the books and at first only fingered them. She
turned over a few leaves, and then read some lines here
and there, and then jumped up and played ball again

224 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

without looking toward them. But by degrees the
reading captivated her more strongly, and when she
saw that her first attempt went off happily, she forgot
her danger, and devoured eagerly one page after
another. It mattered little if she did not begin with
the first volume of a novel. She read with the same
interest the beginning, middle, or end — adding, by dint
of her imagination, what went before. Between whiles
she took the precaution of playing a little with her ball,
so that, in case her governess came back by chance to
see after her, she should find her pupil playing as she
was ordered.

Usually this stratagem succeeded. Tanja heard the
governess's step on the stairs in time to throw down the
book before she came, so that the governess lived under
the impression that her pupil exercised herself all the
time playing ball, as became a good and proper child.
Once or twice it, however, happened that Tanja was so
lost in her book that she heard nothing and noticed
nothing before the governess rose, as it were, out of the
ground before her, and thus caught her in the very act.
On this occasion, as usual when Tanja's guilt was
specially great, the governess hit on the extreme
measure of sending her to her father, ordering her to
tell him herself what she had done. This was the
worst punishment Tanja knew.

Though General Rajevsky was in no way really
severe with his children, he never was much with them
except at dinner, and he never permitted himself to be
the least familiar with them, except when they were ill.
Then he was quite different. The fear of losing them

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 225

made him quite another man. His voice became
wonderfully soft and gentle, and no one understood as
he did how to coax and play with them. They, on
their side, idolised him in such hours, which they ever
after remembered with pleasure. But usually, when
they were all well, the General followed the rule that
" a man must be strict," and was therefore very
niggardly with his caresses.

He liked to be alone, and lived in his own world,
where none of the family entered. In the morning he
went for a walk round his property, alone or followed
by the steward, and nearly all the rest of the day he
spent in his own room. It lay apart from the rest
of the rooms, and formed, so to speak, the Holiest
of Holies in the house. Even Madame Rajevsky did
not go in without knocking, and none of the children
would ever have had so bold an idea as to go there
unbidden.

So when the governess said, " Go to your father,
and tell him how you have behaved," Tanja was quite
in despair. She wept, and fought against it, but the
governess was unrelenting, took her by the hand and
led or dragged her through the long row of rooms
which led to the General's door. She left her to her
fate and went away. It was no good crying any
longer. Besides, in the hall outside Tanja saw the
forms of some of the idle and curious servants, who
looked at her with impertinent interest.

" I expect the little miss has done something naughty
again," she heard a servant, her father's valet, Ilja, say
with a half-compassionate, half-spiteful voice.

16

226 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

Tanja did not condescend to answer him, and strove
to appear as if nothing were amiss, and as if she of her
own free will was visiting her father. She did not dare
to return to her schoolroom without having fulfilled the
governess's command — that would be to increase the
offence by visible disobedience, and to stand by the
door as a butt for the servants' scorn was unbearable.
There was nothing left for it but to knock and go
courageously to her fate.

Tanja gave a feeble, a very feeble little knock. Some
seconds passed which she thought an eternity.

" Knock a little louder, miss ; papa did not hear ! "
remarked again that unbearable Ilja, who seemed much
amused at the whole incident.

There was nothing else to do. Tanja knocked
again.

" Who's there ? Come in ! " at last her father's
voice answered from the inner room.

Tanja stepped in, and stood in the shadow by the
threshold. Her father sat tat his writing-table with his
back to the door and did not see her.

" Who is there ? and what do you want ? "he cried,
irritably.

"It is I, papa. Malvina Jakovlevna has sent me
here," sobbed Tanja, in answer.

The General now understood what had happened.
"Aha! you have been behaving foolishly again," he
said, endeavouring to speak as severely as possible.
" Well, speak out ; what have you done ? "

And sobbing and stammering, Tanja made her self-
accusation.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 227

The General listened carefully. His ideas of training
were most elementary, and pedagogy he considered was
something with which only women should busy them-
selves. He naturally had no inkling of the world of
confused, complicated feeling which already began to
develop in the little girl standing before him to await
his decision. Absorbed by his masculine " business,"
he had not noticed how she had by degrees grown out
of the chubby child of five years ago. He was doubt-
less perplexed what he should do and say on the spur
of the moment. Tanja's transgression seemed to him
most trifling, but he believed firmly and truly in the
imperative necessity of severity in the training of
children. He was annoyed with the governess for
not managing so simple a business by herself, instead
of sending Tanja to him. But if matters were once
brought to him he must show his power and his
fatherly authority. So he put on a severe and dis-
pleased air.

"You are a naughty, disobedient girl, and I am
much displeased with you," said he, and paused, not
knowing what more to say. " Go into the corner,"
he said at last, for the only pedagogical wisdom which
had remained in his memory was that naughty children
should be put in the corner.

And so Tanja, a girl of twelve, who a few minutes
before had been in the company of a heroine who, in
the last half of a volume, had passed through a thrilling
psychological scene, had to go into the corner like a
little stupid ignorant infant.

The General returned to his business at his writing-

228 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

table. Deep silence reigned in the room. Tanja stood
immovable, but what did she not suffer and experience
during those few minutes. She saw and understood
so clearly how foolish and unsuitable the whole of this
treatment was. A kind of inner shyness made her en-
deavour to keep silent, and not to break into tears
or to make a scene. But a bitter feeling of injustice
and helpless wrath rose in her throat and nearly choked
her.

" How silly ! What does it hurt me to stand in
a corner ? " She sought to comfort herself thus, but
it hurt her to think that her father could and should
humble her so, the same father whom she was so proud
of and who stood so far above every one else.

It did not matter so much while she was alone with her
father, but there was a knock at the door, and, under
some pretext or other, in walked the unbearable Ilja.
Tanja knew well that he only came out of curiosity
to see how she had been punished ; but he pretended
not to see her, fulfilled his errand without hurry as
though he had not noticed anything peculiar, and only
just as he was going out did he cast a malicious glance
at Tanja. How she hated him at that moment !

Tanja remained so silent and still that perhaps her
father had forgotten about her, and she had to stand
there a long, long time, for she was of course too proud
to beg forgiveness. At last her father remembered her,
and despatched her with the words, " Now get along,
and don't do anything naughty another time." He
had no inkling of the moral torture which the unhappy
little girl had suffered during the foregoing half-hour.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 229

Truly he would have been horrified could he have
looked into her mind, but as it was he forgot in a
few minutes the whole business. Tanja went out of
the room with a feeling of grief far above her years,
of undeserved humiliation, so bitter that she only
experienced the like again twice or thrice in her life's
darkest hours.

She returned to the schoolroom silent and subdued.
The governess was delighted at the result of her method
of education, for during the course of many days Tanja
was so quiet and good that she found nothing to correct
in her conduct. But she would have been less pleased
had she known what an impression this extreme of
pedagogic zeal had left on her pupil's mind.

Through the whole of Tanja's childhood's memories
ran, like a black thread, the conviction that she was not
liked by her family. The melancholy impression, fed
by the expressions she picked up from the servants, was
heightened now by the solitary life she lived with her
governess.

The lot of the latter was not one of the happiest.
Ugly, alone in the world, no longer young, a foreigner
in Russia, where she had never felt quite at home but
always longed for English ways, she concentrated on
Tanja all the affection which her stern, energetic, and
somewhat unsympathetic nature was capable. Tanja
formed the centre of all her thoughts and endeavours,
and gave an object to her life. But her love was hard,
zealous, exacting, and without a touch of tenderness.

Madame Rajevsky and the governess were two
opposite natures, between whom no sympathy was

230 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

possible. Tanja's mother, both in character and
appearance, belonged to the class of women who never
grow old. She was born a " Von Sch. * * *," a German
family long settled in Russia. Her grandfather was
a famous man of science, and her father head of the
military academy. His position introduced him into
the highest military as well as to scientific circles ;
and all the cultivated and distinguished people of
that day in St. Petersburg met in his house. He
had early lost his wife, but his household was looked
after by his many unmarried sisters who lived with
him : and thus it happened that Elena Pavlovna, as
long as she was a girl, never came into touch with
the practical side of life. She received a better educa-
tion than many Russian girls of the day, and was an
accomplished pianist, sang well, and spoke many
foreign languages, and was well acquainted with
German and French literature.

She had also other artistic inclinations, though these
were never so strongly marked as to demand of her any
sacrifice or to encroach in any way on the sensibilities
or convenience of the rest of the family. It was, in
short, evident in every way that she was to cultivate her
talents not for her own sake, but for the pleasure or
others. In her father's house there were chiefly old
and serious people who found it pleasant and refreshing
to talk with a pretty, talented young girl, and Elena
from her earliest youth had played the part of a fresh,
sweet flower, which stood out in pleasant relief on the
sombre background of academical surroundings. To
all her father's scientific friends she was the personifi-

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 231

cation of that ideal child of whom Goethe sang, and
whom, it seems, fate decrees as necessary a feature of
each circle of grey-headed German thinkers as is the
little busy flycatcher to the great dark-red rhinoceros
around whose resort it flutters.

General Rajevsky, Elena's husband, who was much
older than herself, had from the very first been accus-
tomed to consider her and to treat her as a child, and
he kept this idea far into life. He called her Lina, or
Lenotschka, though she always respectfully called him
Ivan Sergejevitsch. He often scolded her even in the
children's presence. They often heard him say, " Now
you are talking nonsense again, Lenotschka." And
Elena was never angry over these scoldings, but held
fast to her opinion like a spoiled child who has the
privilege of winning consent even for its most unreason-
able whims.

There is no doubt that had Elena stepped, on her
marriage, into an old German patriarchal family, she
would soon have become an excellent housewife. But
in her husband's house it was not easy for her to
develop any housewifely virtues. General Rajevsky
was a widower when he married Elena, and though
there were no children by the first marriage, the house
kept to the customs which had been established at that
time. The servants were all old family serfs, and had
already usurped the reins of authority. The new
mistress, who was almost a child, gentle and yielding
in disposition, could naturally not excite respect ; and
among the servants there was, from the very first, a
kind of secret understanding to confine her dominion

232 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

within the four walls of the drawing-room, and never
under any circumstances to leave the sceptre in her
small weak hands. At the commencement of her
married life Elena sought sometimes to throw off
the servants' yoke, but every attempt at interference
on her part in domestic matters met with such
obstinate, though respectful opposition, her commands
were obeyed with such an evident desire to make them
seem preposterous, that the results were naturally disas-
trous. Nothing remained for poor Elena but to admit
her own want of practical knowledge, and she drew
back again humiliated ; so that her attempts only
served to bring her more than ever under the tyranny
of the servants.

Of her children's governess Elena was afraid, for the
liberty-loring Englishwoman treated her often some-
what fiercely, and considered herself the ruling power
in the children's rooms and the mother as only an
occasional visitor. As a consequence, Madame
Rajevsky hardly ever appeared in the children's
room, and never meddled with their training.

As far as Tanja was concerned, she admired her
mother heart and soul, for she thought she was the
loveliest and most charming of ladies, though at the
same time she always felt wronged by her. Why did
she love her less than her other children ?

It was evening, and Tanja was sitting in the school-
room. Although the lessons for the next day were
all prepared, the governess kept her close there under
different pretexts, and would not let her go upstairs
to the others. From the drawing-room, which was just

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 233

above the schoolroom, there came a sound of music.
Madame Rajevsky generally played the piano in the
evening. She could sit and play for hours together,
improvising and going from one motif to another.
She had great musical taste and a wonderfully light
touch, and Tanja always listened with delight to her
playing. Under the influence of music and of fatigue
after lessons, she had a sudden fit of tenderness, and
she longed to slip upstairs and be coaxed by some one.
Now there were only a few minutes till tea-time, and
the governess at last let her off. Tanja rushed upstairs
and witnessed the following scene. Madame Rajevsky
had already ceased playing the piano, and was seated on
the sofa between Anyuta and Fedja, who leant against
her on either side. They were laughing and talking
merrily when Tanja came in, but no one noticed her.
She stood some moments silently beside them, hoping
that some one would take notice of her. But they
continued their conversation without disturbing them-
selves. It needed nothing further to check Tanja's
eagerness. "They are happy without me," whispered
she, bitterly, deeply hurt in her heart, and instead of
rushing up and kissing her mother's delicate white
hands, as she had intended when in the schoolroom
downstairs, she crept into a corner far away from the
others and sat there and sulked till tea-time, and shortly
after was sent to bed.

CHAPTER V.

r~T'HIS conviction of Tanja's that she was less loved
A than the other children hurt her deeply. It was
all the worse, because very early in life there arose in
her a longing for a strong, undivided affection. As a
consequence of this, if any relative or friend of the family
happened to notice her in the smallest degree more than
her brother or sister, she immediately had for that
person a feeling bordering on worship.

There were specially two persons who in Tanja's
childhood became objects of her warmest affection —
her father's brother and her mother's brother. The
first, Peter Rajevsky, her father's eldest brother, was
an old man of unusually noble appearance, tall, with a
massive head covered with curly white hair. His face,
with its regular and severe profile, the grey eyebrows
almost meeting and the deep furrow which cut the
brow almost in two, might have seemed terribly stern,
almost forbidding, if it had not been Jit up by a pair of
good, honest, innocent eyes such as one generally finds
only in a Newfoundland dog or in a little child.

Peter Rajevsky was not a man of this world.
Though he was the eldest of the brothers, and should
have taken his position as the head of his family, he was

234

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 235

treated by all his relatives as a kind of grown-up child,
of whom one need take no notice. He had for many a
long year been regarded as original and odd. His wife
had been dead for some years, and he had made over
the whole of his somewhat considerable property to his
only son, whilst he kept for himself only an inconsider-
able monthly allowance. As he was thus without
definite occupation, he often came to visit his brother
at Palibino, and stayed there for weeks at a time. His
arrival was always considered by the children as a high
festival, and it was always merrier and brighter in the
house when he was there.

His favourite place was the library. In all questions
of physical exertion he was very lazy, and could sit for
whole days without moving on the leather sofa, one leg
over the other, blinking with his left eye, which was
weaker than the other, and altogether absorbed in read-
ing Revue des Deux Mondes, his favourite literature.

To read, to read madly, furiously, this was his only
passion. Politics interested him much, and he devoured
the papers greedily when they came, once a week, to
Palibino, after which he would sit long lost in deep
meditation as to " what was the next piece of mischief
that rascal Napoleon would hit upon ? " During the
last years of his life Bismarck also troubled his brain
pretty severely. He was for the most part convinced
that Napoleon would make " mincemeat of Bismarck."
And as he never lived to see the year 1870, he died
undisturbed in this conviction.

As far as politics were concerned, Peter Rajevsky
was very bloodthirsty. To cut to pieces an army of a

236 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

hundred thousand men was to him a very small affair.
He showed the same hardheartedness when he fancied
himself punishing criminals. A criminal was to him a
lay figure, for in real life he considered all men good
and law-abiding. Notwithstanding the protests of the
governess, he, for instance, sentenced all the English
governors in India to be hanged. " Yes, miss, all,
all," he cried, striking in his warmth his knuckles on
the table. At such moments he looked so savage that
any one coming suddenly into the room would have been
frightened at his countenance. But the next moment
he was silent, his face took an uneasy, troubled expres-
sion : he became aware that he had with his careless
gesticulation disturbed the greyhound Grisi which had
iust laid herself down by the sofa to take a nap.

But Peter Rajevsky was in his glory when he came
across an account of one or other remarkable scientific
discovery. At such times the Rajevskys' dinner-table
was enlivened by hot debates, whereas when the family
were alone there reigned an almost obstinate silence,
simply because for lack of common interest there was
nothing to talk about.

" Have you read what Paul Bert has just dis-
covered ? " he would ask, turning to his sister-in-law,
Madame Rajevsky. " He has made a kind of artificial
Siamese twins by allowing the nerves of one rabbit to
grow into those of another. If one hits one, the other
instantly feels the blow. What do you say to that ?
Do you see what it will lead to ? "

And then Peter Rajevsky would begin to detail to
those present the contents of the newspaper article he

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 237

had just read, while he involuntarily and almost un-
consciously adorned and exaggerated and drew such
wild conclusions as to the aim and effect of the dis-
coveries as certainly never entered into the dreams of
the discoverer.

After the statement followed a hot debate. Madame
Rajevsky and Anyuta were almost always on Peter
Rajevsky's side in their enthusiasm for the new dis-
covery. The governess, on the other hand, with
inborn contradictoriness, was almost always the leader
of the opposition, and began with great eagerness to
attack the theories Peter Rajevsky propounded. The
Polish tutor occasionally raised his voice to correct some
evident mistake, but he wisely refrained from taking
part in the debate. As to the General, he played the
part of a sceptical and amused critic, who took neither
one side nor the other, though he had with his keen
glance perceived and grasped the weak points of both
combatants.

These debates sometimes took quite a warlike note,
and, through some unlucky fate, though almost always
beginning with an utterly abstract question, would pass
over to some small personal insinuation. The hottest
combatants were always Malvina (the governess) and
Anyuta, between whom raged a five-year-old, but
secret, quarrel, though it had been sometimes inter-
rupted by a short armed and watchful truce.

If Peter Rajevsky was somewhat surprising in his
rashness in drawing all sorts of conclusions from
isolated facts, the governess on her part was not less
remarkable in her cleverness in application. She saw

238 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

at a glance, in scientific theories apparently widely
removed from practical life, opportunities of blaming
Anyuta's conduct, and this in ways so unexpected and
original that the others could not but be astonished.

Anyuta was never in the least disconcerted, but gave
her so malignant and impertinent an answer that the
governess rose from the table and explained that after
such an insult she could no longer remain in the house.
Every one present naturally was troubled and ill at
ease. Madame Rajevsky, who hated squabbles and
scenes, undertook the office of mediator, and after
a lengthy negotiation peace was at last concluded.

Tanja remembers later what storms were caused by
two different essays in the Revue des Deux Mondes
— the one dealing with the correlation of the physical
forces (an account of Helmholtz' brochure on this ques-
tion), the other Claude Bernard's experiment on the
part of the brain of a dove. Helmholtz and Claude
Bernard would have been much astonished if they had
known what an apple of discord they had thrown into
a peaceful Russian family, living in an unknown
corner of the province of Vitebsk.

But it was not only politics and accounts of recent
discoveries which interested Peter Rajevsky. He read
with equal delight novels, travels, and historical works
— aye, even in Jack of all else, children's books. It
would seem that nothing could be easier than for a man
of fortune to indulge this innocent passion. But never-
theless, Peter Rajevsky owned hardly any books of his
own, and it was only during the last years of his life,
and thanks to the library at Palibino, that he was able

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 239

to indulge in the only enjoyment for which he cared.
The unusual weakness of his character, which was in
such marked contrast to his stately and severe exterior,
had during his whole life subjected him to the oppres-
sion of another, and this oppression had been so
severe that it had never been possible for him to satisfy
any personal inclination or desire.

The result of this same feebleness of character had
made it evident when he was young that he was
unfitted for the military career, the only one open in
those days to a nobleman ; and as he was of a peaceful
and contented nature, and had never kicked over the
traces, his affectionate parents had decided to keep him
at home, giving him, however, just sufficient education
to prevent him sinking to the level of an ordinary
country yokling. All that he had learned he had
thought out or read about, and his knowledge was
really remarkable, though, like all self-educated men, it
was patchy and unconnected.

Some subjects he knew very well ; of others he was
quite ignorant. Even when grown to man's estate he
continued to live at home, and he enjoyed his unpre-
tentious position in the family, and was always utterly
wanting in every trace of self-interest or egoism.
The younger and much more brilliant brothers treated
him in a rather bullying, good-natured, patronising
manner, as though he were a harmless original being.
But suddenly a piece of unexpected good luck fell
from heaven upon him. The greatest beauty and
richest heiress in the governmental district, Nadeschda
Andrejevna N., honoured him with her attention.

240 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

Was she caught by his prepossessing exterior, or did
she coolly calculate that he was just the husband she
required ; that it would be pleasant to have for ever
at her feet a submissive, enamoured giant ? At all
events she allowed it to be understood clearly that
she would have no objection to presenting him with
her hand.

Peter Rajevsky himself would never have ventured
to dream of such a thing, but the whole crowd of
aunts and sisters hastened to apprise him of the good
luck which had fallen to his lot, and before he knew a
word about it he found himself the chosen bridegroom
of Nadeschda Andrejevna. But the marriage was not
a happy one.

Although the Rajevsky children were fully persuaded
that Uncle Peter was put in the world solely for their
special pleasure, and were ready to chatter with him
about every kind of folly which came into their heads,
they had, nevertheless, an instinctive feeling that there
was one subject of conversation which it would not
do to meddle with ; they never dared ask their uncle
about his deceased wife.

Terrible stories about Aunt Nadeschda Andrejevna
were, moreover, current among the children. The
parents and governess never mentioned her in their
presence, but the youngest unmarried sister of their
father, Anna Sergejevna, sometimes had a gossipy fit,
and told the children terrible things about her blessed
sister-in-law Nadeschda Andrejevna.

" God have mercy on us, what a viper she was ! She
led me and my sister Martha a miserable life. And

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 241

brother Peter had certainly his full benefit of her !
If, for instance, she was angry with any of the servants,
off she rushed to him instantly and desired him to
flog the criminal with his own hand. But however
good he was, he would not do it without trying to talk
her into reason. But that certainly was hard. She
became angry with his remonstrances, and turned on
him with every manner of abuse. He was just a
weak woman all his life, and no man. He sat there,
silent and meek, and listened to her. And at last,
when she saw she could not anger him with words,
she took his paper, books, and anything that was on
his writing-table, and threw them into the fire, scream-
ing out that she would have none of that rubbish in
her house. It went so far that she even took off her
shoe. Yes, she regularly boxed his ears, and he, the
meek creature, tried to catch her hands, but very
carefully, so as not to hurt her, and said kindly,
* What is the matter with you, Nadenka ? do calm
yourself. Are you not ashamed even to do it in
other people's presence ? ' But she was ashamed of
nothing."

" How could uncle stand such a wife ! Did he not
try to get rid of her ? " we children all exclaimed, with
deep concern.

" Ah ! dear children, one does not throw away
one's lawful wife like a glove," answered Anna
Sergejevna. "And I must also say that however ill
she treated him, he loved her just as much."

" How could he love such a crosspatch ! "

" He did love her, however, and could not live

242 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

without her. When she was put an end to, he was so
miserable he nearly killed himself."

" What do mean, Aunt Anna, by being put an end
to ? " the children asked, in greatest excitement.

But our aunt noticed she had let slip what she ought
not to have mentioned, and broke off her story and
began to knit energetically at her stocking, which was
a sign that no sequel was to follow ; but the children's
curiosity had been aroused, and would not slumber.

" Sweet darling auntie, say ! " we asked her earnestly.
And Anna Sergejevna probably thought she could not
well stop now she had gone so far.

" Well, you see, it was so — her own serfs suffocated
her," she answered, suddenly.

" Oh, how terrible ! How did it happen ? "

" Very easily indeed," said Anna Sergejevna. tc She
had sent brother Peter and the children away some-
where. At night her favourite maid Malanja undressed
her and put her to bed, and then clapped her hands two
or three times. This was a sign for the other maids to
hasten into the room, and Fedor the coachman and
Jevstignej the gardener were with them. Nadeschda
Andrejevna needed only to glance at them to see her
danger, but she was not afraid and never lost her head,
but swore at them. ' What are you going to do, you
rascals ? Are you mad ? Out of the room instantly ! '
And out of long use they were subdued, and went back
to the door ; but Malanja, who was the boldest, called
out to the others, ' What are you thinking about, you
miserable cowards ? Are you not more anxious to save
your own skins ? Don't you understand that to-morrow

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 243

she will send you all to Siberia ? ' So then they took
courage and rushed towards the bed ; some held my
sainted sister-in-law down by hands and feet, and
others piled cushions and bolsters upon her so that she
was suffocated. She begged and besought them, and
offered them money if they would let her live — but
no, they would not be bribed. And Malanja, who
was her favourite, made the others lay a wet handker-
chief over her head, so that there should be no blue
marks on her face.

" But then they went and gave themselves up, the
stupid slaves, and were whipped until they told the
whole story to the judges. And they all got severe
punishment for what they had done, and many are
still leading miserable lives in Siberia."

Their aunt remained silent, and the children too,
filled with horror.

" Mind, now, whatever you do, don't say anything
to your father or mother about this. I was stupid to
have told you," she added presently. But the children
understood well that it was not a thing they could talk
about to father or mother or governess. There would
be a scene indeed, and no one would ever dare to tell
them anything more.

But in the evening, when Tanja had to go to bed,
this horrid story followed her, so that she could not
sleep. Once, when on a visit to her uncle, she saw
a great oil painting, full size, of Nadeschda Andre-
jevna, painted in the banal style customary at that
time. And now her aunt's picture stood lifelike before
her, small and delicately made, pretty as a porcelain

244 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

doll, dressed in a red velvet robe, with a garnet necklace
on her round white throat, with a bright colour in her
round cheeks, a haughty expression in her large black
eyes, and a stereotyped smile in her little mouth. And
Tanja tried to fancy how those large eyes opened wider
with horror, when she suddenly saw herself surrounded
by submissive slaves coming to take her life. Later
Tanja fancied herself in her place. When Dunjascha
undressed her, it came over her all at once how it would
seem if the maid's round kindly face were suddenly to
have a wild, hateful expression, and if she were to clap
her hands, and Ilja and Stepan and Sascha were to rush
in, calling out, " We are going to strike you dead,
miss ! "

Tanja became thoroughly frightened with these fearful
thoughts, and no longer tried to keep Dunjascha with
her as long as possible, but was glad when she went off,
taking the light with her. But Tanja could not even
then sleep, without lying awake first and staring into the
darkness with wide-open eyes, waiting wearily until the
governess should come upstairs with the grown-ups
from the card party.

Whenever she was alone with her uncle, this story
always came back to her involuntarily, and it seemed
to her so wonderful and incomprehensible that a man
should have gone through so much in his life and yet
remain so calm and happy as if nothing had happened ;
he could even play chess with her, and make paper
boats for her, and be roused to fire and flames by
reading some article in the papers about the ancient
bed of the Syr-Dayas, or something else of that kind.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 245

Children always find it hard to realise that their rela-
tions whom they see in everyday life have, during
their life, lived through tragic scenes, and have ever
deviated from the common customs around them.

Tanja sometimes experienced an almost morbid desire
to ask her uncle how it had all happened. She could
sit motionless by him for hours together whilst she
tried to picture to herself how that great, strong, clever
man had trembled before the little beauty his wife,
how he had wept and kissed her hands while she tore
his papers and books, or while she pulled off her little
shoe and struck him on the cheeks.

Once and only once in the course of her whole child-
hood did Tanja venture to meddle with her uncle's
sore point.

It was evening, and they were together alone in the
library. Her uncle as usual sat on the sofa, one leg
thrown over the other, and read. Tanja jumped
about playing with her ball, but at last tired, she crept
on to the sofa close to him. She leant against him, lost
as usual in her wonderings about his past life.

Peter Sergejevitsch suddenly laid down his book, and
asked, while he gently stroked her hair, " What is my
little girl thinking about so deeply ? "

" Were you very unhappy with your wife, uncle ? "
exclaimed Tanja, impulsively and almost involuntarily.
Never could she forget the effect of the unexpected
question upon her poor uncle. His calm, stern coun-
tenance suddenly contracted as though in physical
anguish, and he put out his hands as if to ward off
a blow. And when Tanja saw how she had vexed

246 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

him, she was ashamed and ill at ease. It seemed to
her as if she herself had taken off her slipper and
boxed him on the ear.

" Dear, darling uncle," she cried, " forgive me ; I
didn't mean what I said," she whispered, and she
nestled up to him and hid her face in her breast, and
the kind uncle sought to comfort her over her indiscreet
inquisitiveness.

From that hour Tanja never again ventured on the
forbidden subject. But she could always ask him any-
thing else. She was considered his special favourite, and
could sit for hours with him talking of every imaginable
thing. He would unfold to Tanja the most abstract
theories, quite forgetting it was a child to whom he
was talking. But it was just that which pleased Tanja.
He talked to her as he would have talked to a grown
person, and she strained her powers to understand him,
or at all events to appear to understand him. Although
he had never studied mathematics, he had the deepest
respect for this branch of science. He had obtained
from different books a few mathematical ideas, tried to
philosophise upon them, and often did so aloud in
Tanja's presence. From him she first heard of the
quadration of a circle, and many other such things, the
meaning of which she could not of course quite seize,
but which made a great impression on her fancy, and
awoke in her a deep admiration of mathematics. She
thought it a lofty, mystic science, which to the initiated
opened a wonderful world, inaccessible to ordinary
simple mortals.

There was another peculiar circumstance which

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 247

had early awoke Tanja's interest in mathematical
science.

When they moved to the country, the whole house
had to be repaired and the rooms to be repapered.
But as there were so many rooms there had been a
mistake made in the estimate, and there was not
enough paper for one of the children's rooms. To
write for more paper to St. Petersburg was quite out of
the question, for it was not worth the trouble for only
one room. It had to wait until some convenient occa-
sion occurred, and meanwhile, for many years the walls
were covered with common waste papers. Among
these there were several lithographed pages out of
Ostrogradski's "Lectures on Differential and Integral
Calculus," which General Rajevsky had studied when
young.

These pages, with their wonderful, intricate, and
incomprehensible figures, had quickly attracted Tanja's
attention. She could stand for whole hours before the
mysterious walls, trying to puzzle out the meanings of
isolated phrases, and striving to find out the order of
the pages. Through long and daily study of these
figures she got the mere outward forms clearly fixed in
her mind, and even the text left a deep impression on
her mind, though she could not understand it at the
moment when she read it.

When many years later, as a fifteen-year-old girl,
she took her first lessons in differential calculus from
an obscure mathematician in St. Petersburg, he was
astonished to find how quickly she got on and assimi-
lated all the ideas connected with it, as though she had
already studied it.

248 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

The truth was that, somehow, the moment he ex-
plained these for her, the true meaning of the figures
and words which had so long lain in a forgotten corner
of her brain, awoke in her inner consciousness.

CHAPTER VI.

TANJA'S affection for her mother's brother, Fedor
Pavlitsch, was of quite a different kind.

He was the only son of Mdme. Rajevsky's deceased
father, and was much younger than she was. He was
living in St. Petersburg, and as he was the only heir of
the famous Sch-ska name, he was an object of the
boundless devotion of his sister and countless maiden
aunts.

It was a great event in the family when he came to
visit at Palibino. Tanja was nine when he paid his
first visit. For many weeks before they had talked
about nothing but this uncle's visit. The best rooms
in the house were put in order for his sake, and
Madame Rajevsky saw after them herself, and had
them furnished with the easiest chairs and sofas which
could be found. A carriage was sent to meet him at
the chief town a hundred and fifty versts distant, and
in the carriage was put a fur and a skin wrapper and a
plaid, so that Uncle Fedor might not be cold, as it was
late in autumn. But many days before he was expected,
a simple cart drawn by three miserable post-horses
drew up in front of the steps, and out jumped a young

249

250 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

man in a light overcoat, and with a leather wallet over
his shoulder.

u Good gracious, there is my brother Fedja ! "
exclaimed Madame Rajevsky, looking out of the
window.

" Uncle has come, uncle has come ! " sounded through
the whole house, and every one ran into the hall to
greet the welcome guest.

" Fedja, my poor fellow, what on earth did you take
the stage-cart for? Did you not meet the carriage
which we sent to meet you ? Are you not shaken to
pieces ? " asked Madame Rajevsky anxiously, while
embracing her brother.

It appeared that Fedor had started from St. Peters-
burg a day earlier than had been expected.

" Good gracious, Lina," he answered, laughing, and
drying the frost from his moustache before he kissed
his sister, " I could not have imagined that you would
make so many preparations for my coming. What was
the good of sending to fetch me ? I am not quite such
an old woman that I can't drive one hundred and fifty
miles with post-horses ! "

Uncle Fedor had a pleasant tenor voice, and spoke
with a soft guttural tone. He looked quite young : his
short-cut chestnut hair covered his head as with close
velvet ; his cheeks glowed with the cold ; his dark
brown eyes were bright and merry, and between the
soft red lips, which were shaded by his moustache,
shone now and again a row of strong white teeth.

<e How stately he is, and how beautiful he is ! "
thought Tanja, and looked at him with delight.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 251

" Whom have we here — Anyuta ? " asked the uncle,
pointing to Tanja.

" What are you thinking of, Fedor ? Anyuta is
already grown up ; that is only Tanja," answered
Madame Rajevsky, in an injured tone.

" Gracious ! is your daughter grown up? Look out,
Lina, or you will be an old woman before you know
where you are ! " answered Fedor, laughing, and kissed
Tanja. She felt shy, she knew not quite why, and
blushed red.

At dinner, of course, her mother's brother sat in
the place of honour near Madame Rajevsky. He
had a large appetite, which did not prevent him chat-
tering the whole time. He narrated several bits of
news and scandal from St. Petersburg, and made the
others often laugh, and he himself joined in often with
a merry ringing laugh. All listened to him, even
General Rajevsky, who showed him great respect,
without a trace of that malicious patronising air he
often put on to other young gentlemen of the family
who sometimes came to visit, and which always gave
them the greatest annoyance.

The more Tanja looked at her new uncle, the more
she liked him. He had already washed and dressed
himself, and no one would have guessed, from his fresh,
bright appearance, that he had just come from a long
journey. The short coat of some English material
fitted him and suited him better than any one else.
But above all Tanja admired his white, well-formed,
and carefully tended hands, with shining nails like pink
almonds. During the whole of dinner she watched

252 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

him incessantly, and quite forgot to eat, so lost was she
in studying him.

Gooseberry jam was served with the pudding. Fedor
Pavlitsch took a good portion of it on to his plate.
The large green berries looked most inviting as they
lay there in the thick white sugar. He looked at the
preserve, and he looked at Tanja, and then again at the
gooseberries, and burst out laughing, such a merry
infectious laugh that every one joined in, though they
did not know why.

" Do you know, Lina, all dinner-time I have been
wondering what Tanja's eyes were like," said her uncle
at last, as he tried to stop his desire to laugh. " Now
I know : they are just like preserved gooseberries, just
as big, and green, and sweet."

They all found the likeness exact, and greeted it
with a new laugh. Tanja blushed up to her ears, and
considered herself almost insulted, but her uncle con-
tinued, laughing —

" But very much sweeter and very much greener,"
and that comforted Tanja a little.

After dinner her uncle sat down on the sofa in the
corner of the drawing-room, and drew Tanja on to his
knee.

" Come, now, and let us make closer acquaintance,
mademoiselle ma niece," he said.

He began to ask her all sorts of questions about her
lessons, and what books she read. Children always
know better than their elders fancy what are their
strong and weak points, and Tanja knew well that it
was easy for her to learn, and felt she had an unusual

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 253

amount of learning for her age. She was therefore
highly delighted that her uncle had stumbled on this
question, and she answered willingly and without
pressure all his questions, and she saw that her uncle
was pleased with her.

" What an intelligent little girl ! How much she
knows ! " he exclaimed repeatedly.

" Now, uncle, you tell me something," said Tanja
in her turn.

" Yes, willingly, but it is such a serious young lady
that we must not have mere children's tales," he said,
laughing. "One can only talk of serious things
with you," and therewith he began to tell Tanja
about infusoria and sea weeds, and the building of
coral reefs. It was not long since he left the university
himself, and so he had all this fresh in his mind.
Besides, he told his story well, and it pleased him that
Tanja listened so attentively to him and looked so
steadily at him, with those wide-open, green- gooseberry
eyes.

Afterwards the same thing happened each evening.
After dinner both the General and Madame Rajevsky
rested for half an hour, and the uncle had nothing else
to do. So he would sit down on the corner sofa, take
Tanja on his knee, and tell her all sorts of things.
He invited the other children too, but Anyuta, who
had but just left the schoolroom, was afraid of com-
promising the dignity of a grown-up lady by listening
to such instruction, which could only interest little
ones. Fedja listened for a time, it is true, but he soon
found it dull, and went off to play horses.

254 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

Tanja, on the contrary, loved nothing better than
this " scientific lecture," as her uncle laughingly called
it. She thought this half-hour which she spent t£te-a-
t£te with him the happiest of the whole day. She really
worshipped him, with a kind of childish love to which
little girls are more prone than old people believe. Tanja
felt strangely confused every time her uncle's name was
mentioned, even if it were the simple question, " Is uncle
at home ? " If some one at the dinner-table perceived
that she never took her eyes off him, and asked, " How
is it, Tanja, you are so lost in admiration of your
uncle ? " she would crimson and answer nothing.

During the day Tanja saw nothing of him, as she
lived entirely cut off from her elders. But ever and
continuously she had the same idea in her head through
lesson and play hours — " Oh ! would it were five
o'clock. If I could only meet uncle ! "

Once during his visit to Palibino, the owner of an ad-
joining property came on a visit with his daughter Olga.
This Olga was the only girl of the same age whom
Tanja had ever met. She did not come very often, but
instead she always stayed some time, and occasionally
over-night. She was a bright, lively little girl, and her
disposition and inclination were altogether opposed to
Tanja's, and anything like a real friendship could not in
consequence spring up between them. Still, Tanja was
always glad when she came, and all the more so because
in her honour she was allowed to escape lessons and got
a whole holiday. But this time Tanja's first thought
when she saw Olga was, " Will she stay until after
dinner? " The chief pleasure of her conversation with

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 255

her uncle was just this, that she was tete-a-t£te with
him, that she had him all to herself; and now she felt
beforehand that that stupid OJga's presence would
entirely spoil everything. For this reason Tanja's
greeting to her little friend was less hearty than usual.
" Perhaps she will go home. earlier to-day," she hoped,
in silence, all the morning. But no ! It was evident
that Olga would not go till late in the evening. What
should she do? Tanja took courage at last, and
decided to open her heart to her friend, and begged her
not to disturb them.

" Listen, Olga," she said, insinuatingly, " I will play
with you the whole day, and I will do whatever you
like. But if I do, after dinner you must be good and
go off by yourself and leave me in peace. I am always
accustomed to talk for a little while to my uncle after
dinner, and we do not want you."

Olga agreed to Tanja's conditions, and Tanja fulfilled
her share of the compact faithfully all the morning.
She played with Olga at every possible game which the
little girl wanted, however stupid it was ; adopted the
most uninteresting roles which it was Olga's pleasure
to invent for her, changed patiently from a lady to a cook
at a word from her, and from a cook back to a lady.
At last they were called to dinner. Tanja sat on hot
coals all the time. " Will Olga truly keep her promise ? "
she thought, and glanced at her little friend uneasily
and with a little wink to remind her of their compact.

After dinner Tanja jumped up as usual to kiss her
father and mother's hand, and nestled up to her uncle,
waiting for what he should say.

256 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

" Now, little one, what shall we talk of to-day ? "
asked Uncle Fedor, while he lovingly patted her under
the chin. Tanja jumped with delight,- and took hold
of his hand, thinking that she would go off to the
accustomed corner, when she suddenly saw the unfaithful
Olga following them.

Tanja's craftily planned agreement had only made
matters worse. It is quite probable that if she had said
nothing, Olga, when she found her little friend prepared
to talk learnedly with her uncle, would have been the
first to go off by herself, as she had a holy horror of all
that savoured of study. But when she saw that Tanja
was so interested in her uncle's narrative, and wanted
to be rid of her at any price, she fancied that they
talked of something very interesting, and was very
anxious to listen to it.

" May I go with you ? " she asked, in a beseeching
tone, raising her beautiful eyes to Uncle Fedor's.

" Of course you may, little one," he answered, with
a kindly look at her pretty, rosy face.

Tanja cast a bitter glance at Olga, who did not,
however, seem to be in the least put out.

" But Olga does not care for these things. She
will not understand it in the least," answered Tanja,
in an aggrieved tone. But this attempt at being even
with her unfaithful little friend did not succeed at all.

" Well, then, to-day we will talk of something
simpler and pleasant, which can also interest Olga,"
said her uncle, good-naturedly, as he took both girls
by the hand and led them to the corner couch.

Tanja followed in sullen silence. This conversation

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 257

a trots, however pleasing to Olga's taste and under-
standing, was not at all what Tanja desired. It seemed
to her as though some one had taken a treasure from
her which was hers by right.

" See, Tanja, come and sit upon my knee," said her
uncle, who had evidently not taken any notice of her
bad humour.

But Tanja was too much insulted to let herself be
propitiated in this wise. 'f I don't want to," she
answered hastily, and drew back sulkily into the corner.

Her uncle looked at her with an astonished laughing
face. Did he understand how jealousy was raging in
her little breast, and was he bent on amusing himself
at her cost ? Any way, he turned round directly to
Olga and said —

" Well, then, Olga, if Tanja does not wish to come,
you may come instead."

Olga did not wait to be asked twice, and before
Tanja knew where she was, her friend had taken her
place on her uncle's knee. That was an unexpected blow
to Tanja. She had not thought that the matter would
take such a terrible turn. It was as though the earth had
suddenly opened under her feet. She was too surprised
to protest, and only gazed on silently with wide-open
eyes on her lucky rival, who, with a shy but highly
delighted countenance, sat on Uncle Fedor's knee just
as though it were quite the right thing. She pouted
her little mouth into a funny grimace, and strove so
hard to give her little childish face an expression of
attention, that not only her face but her neck and her
very arms were crimson with the effort.

18

258 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

Tanja looked at her, looked and looked ; and then
all at once (she herself never knew how it happened, it
was as though she was driven to it) she fixed her teeth
in Olga's round white arm just above the elbow, and bit
her till the blood came.

The attack was so sudden and unexpected that for
the first minute all three were petrified, and only stared
at each other silently. Then Olga uttered a penetrating
shriek which recalled them to their senses.

Tanja was seized with a wild, frightened shyness,
and rushed blindly out of the room. " Miserable little
wretch ! " she heard her uncle's angry voice calling after
her.

Her constant resort in all her childish troubles and
trials was Njanja's room, the same which Maria Vasil-
jevna had formerly inhabited. There even now she
sought shelter. Hiding her head on the good nurse's
knee, she wept long and continuously, and Njanja, who
saw how upset her darling was, asked no questions, only
stroked her head comfortingly and covered her with
caresses. " My poor little one ! Calm yourself, my
sweet child ! " she murmured, and Tanja felt her great
despair softened by this weeping with Njanja.

Fortunately Tanja's governess was not at home that
afternoon. She had gone on a few days' visit to some
neighbours. So there was no one to look for Tanja,
and she was free to weep her heart out in Njanja's little
room. When she was calm the old woman made her
drink a cup of tea, and then put her to bed, where she
was soon asleep in a deep, obliterating slumber.

But when she awoke next morning and remembered

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 259

all which had passed the previous afternoon, she was
desperately shy at meeting the others, for she thought
she could never face any one again. But all went
better than she expected. Olga had gone home the
previous evening, and apparently had been generous
enough not to complain of Tanja. She could see by
the family faces that they knew nothing. No one
upbraided her for what she had done, no one joked
about it. Even her uncle appeared as if nothing had
happened.

But, strangely enough, from that day Tanja's feeling
for him underwent a great change, and was of quite a
different character. The after-dinner talk was never
repeated. Shortly after this event her uncle went back
to St. Petersburg, and though he often afterwards
visited the Rajevskys, and was always very kind to
Tanja, and she on her side was very fond of him, there
was an end to the heathenish worship which she had
once bestowed upon him.

CHAPTER VII.

THE country in which the Rajevskys' property
lay was very wild, and far more picturesque than
are districts situated in central Russia. The Vitebsk
" government " is known for its huge pine forests and
its many large and beautiful lakes. Through some of
this district stretch the last branches of the Valdai
Hills, and consequently there are not the same mono-
tonous plains here as over the rest of Russia, but, on
the contrary, the landscape is rounded and undulating.
There is a dearth here as elsewhere in Russia of stones,
but in this locality great bits of granite crop up quite
unexpectedly in the midst of a field, or in a swampy
meadow where the rank grass grows to the height of a
man. These rocks stick up oddly above the succulent
vegetation around, and appear so inharmonious with
the soft rounded contours of the rest of the landscape
that one feels inclined to ask almost involuntarily what
freak of fortune has placed them there.

One can but wonder if they may possibly be monu-
ments dating from prehistoric times, of some unknown
or, maybe, supernatural beings ; and, in truth, geology
tells us that these boulders were brought here from afar
by an intruding stranger, and that they are, in truth,

260

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 261

interesting monuments, not of mortal folk or legendary
gnomes, but of the great ice period, when these huge
boulders were detached like grains of sand from the
shores of Finland, and carried long distances by the
slow, ever advancing, and all-powerful ice.

The Palibino estate is bordered on one side almost
entirely by woods, which, though at first somewhat
scattered and park-like, deepen by degrees and become
more and more impenetrable until they form a royal
forest. This stretches away for hundreds of versts, and
in the memory of man no axe has ever been heard there,
unless in the dead of night some bold peasant were bold
enough to steal crown wood.

Among the people there were a number of tales in
circulation about this wood, tales in which it was hard
to tell where truth ended and falsehood began. Of
course in all Russian woods crowds of elves and fairies
dwell, but although there was no question but that
these creatures existed there, no one had, strange to say,
caught a glimpse of them except old cracked Grounja
and the <f wise man " of the village, Fedot. There were,
however, many who could tell of meetings in the wood
with suspicious persons. One legend told of a troop of
robbers, horse-stealers, and discharged soldiers, hidden
in its deepest thickets. Some said it was not safe for any
policeman to go and look after them or to see what
took place at night. As to wolves, lynx, and bears,
there were few of the neighbouring peasants who had
not had occasion to prove from their own experience
that the forests were overrun with such creatures.

For the most part it was said that bears were on good

262 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

terms with the people round. It might happen some-
times in the spring or in the autumn that one heard
how a bear had carried off a cow or a horse from a
peasant, but generally they contented themselves with
eating a few sheaves of oats from the barn, or a little
honey from the bee gardens. Seldom, very seldom, did
one hear of a bear having a struggle with a peasant,
and it generally turned out that it was the peasant's own
fault who first attacked the poor bear.

There were many who harboured an almost super-
stitious horror of the forest. If it chanced that a
housewife in one of the forest border villages missed
her child towards evening, her first thought was that it
was lost in the thicket, and she began to cry and shriek
as though she had already seen the corpse. None of
the Rajevskys' servant-girls would venture to go there
alone ; but in company, and especially in charge of the
young lads, they gladly wandered there. The intrepid
English governess, who had a passion for long walks,
showed at first a great contempt for all stories about
the wood with which people sought to frighten her, and
declared she would go walking there despite all the old
women's tales in the world. But one autumn day,
when she went out alone with her pupils and was about
an hour's walk from home, she suddenly heard a great
rustling near her, and was suddenly aware of a huge
bear, who, with her two cubs, walked across the road
about fifteen feet in front of her. She was obliged to
admit that the stories were not exaggerated, and from
that moment she never ventured far into the wood,
unless she were followed by some of the men servants.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 263

But the woods hid not only horror and terror, but
they were a never-failing source of delights of all sorts.
They contained innumerable hosts of game — hares,
guillenots, blackcock, and partridges. Hunters had
merely to go and shoot ; the least practised shot could
be sure of a bag. There were blackberries in abun-
dance. First came wild strawberries, which certainly
ripened a little later in the woods than in the meadows,
but which, on the other hand, are much sweeter and
juicier in the woods. And when they were done, came
the bilberries, raspberries, and cranberries. So that before
one knew where one was the nuts began to ripen, and
then the mushrooms took their place. One can get
rorsoppor even in summer, but for pepparling, kanta-
relle, and riskor, autumn is just the right time. Old
women, girls, and children, in the villages round, have
at that season a kind of madness. Nothing but force
can keep them out of the wood. They go there in
great crowds, as soon as the sun rises, armed with
earthen pots or bast baskets, and it is no good expect-
ing them home till late in the evening. And what greed
they display all day there ! One would think that when
they had got so much good out of the one day away
from home in the wood they would be satisfied ; but
not a bit of it. In the morning, as soon as it is barely
light, they must be off again. They think nothing but
of gathering mushrooms, and are ready to go off to
that from any work at home or in the fields.

The Rajevskys had also their great forest expeditions
in summer when the wild strawberries were ripe, or in
autumn when it was mushroom season. In these the

264 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

whole house took part, with the exception of the
General and his wife, who were not specially given
to such rural dissipations. Preparations began on the
previous evening. With the sun's first rays three
country carts drive up to the steps. In the house
everything is gay and festive. Servants run about
busily, carrying out china, the samovar, different pro-
visions, tea, sugar, dishes of pastry and fresh butter-
cakes, and pack them into the carts. At the top of
all they throw in baskets and bowls, to be ready for the
projected mushroom gathering. Children who have got
up at such an unearthly hour run backwards and for-
wards, wild with delight, their cheeks aglow from
the wet sponge polishing. In their delight they do
not know what to do, but must finger everything
and touch everything and hinder every one, and get
incessant orders not to be in every one's way. The
household dogs are naturally always deeply interested,
like every one else, in the projected expedition. From
early morning they have been in a state of nervous
excitement, jumping between people's feet, and barking
continuously and loudly. At last, tired with excite-
ment, they stretch themselves out in the yard, near
the steps, but their whole attitude expresses expectant
waiting ; they follow every passer with anxious eyes, and
are ready to jump up at the first look. The whole
intensity of dog nature is concentrated in the thought,
" Can they possibly be going without us ? "

At last the preparations are made. The company
get up into the carriages and take their seats as best
they can. The party consists of the governess, tutor,

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 265

three children, about ten maid servants, the gardener,
and two or three men servants, and some five or six
children belonging to the outdoor servants. The whole
of the servant population are in commotion — all want
to go on the pleasant expedition. At the last moment,
just as the carriage is moving, the scullery-woman's
little five-year old Aksjuska runs up, and sets up such
a howl when she sees that her mother means to go with-
out her, that she has to be lifted into the carriage.

The first halt is made at the forester's lodge, situated
about ten versts from the house. The vehicles sway
slowly along over the swampy forest path. Only the
first is driven by a real coachman ; the others are chiefly
amateur drivers, who snatch the reins from one another
and force the horses to go in a zigzag fashion. Suddenly
there is a jolt and every one jumps up. The cart has
driven over a huge tree root. Little Aksjuska is nearly
swung out by the jolt ; they are only just able to save
her by catching her jacket and lifting her up, much as
one might pick up a puppy. From the bottom of the
cart comes the crash of breaking glass.

The wood gets thicker and more impenetrable.
There is nothing to be seen but first, tall and dark,
with their rich brown stems rising like gigantic church
tapers. Only by the roadside grow a border of bushes,
hazel elder, and above all alder. Here and there are a
few red quivering aspen leaves, or a picturesque rowan,
brilliant with its bright red berries.

From the cart come sudden shrieks of delight. The
cap of a volunteer coachman has been caught in a dewy
birch bough which overhangs the road. The branch

266 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

brushes first one and then another of the cart riders and
covers them with a small rain of dew. Then there are
screams and jokes and witticisms without end.

Now the forester's lodge is in sight. The house is
roofed with boards, and looks incomparably more
comfortable and neater than most peasant houses in
" White Russia." It lies in a little meadow, and — an
unusual luxury for a peasant in that neighbourhood — it
is surrounded by a garden. Here among cabbage heads
there are a few red poppies and some bright yellow sun-
flowers. Some apple trees, full of red apples, grow
tall in the midst of the garden, and are their owner's
great pride, as he himself planted them, having taken
them from the wild plants in the woods, and so grafted
them that his apples rival the best fruit from the
neighbouring estates.

The forester was already over seventy. His long
beard was quiet white, but he seemed active and agile,
and had a serious and noble countenance. He was
taller and broader built than most " White Russians,"
and in his face was reflected some of the forest's clear
and majestic calm. All his children were provided for.
His daughters were married, and his sons had followed
different trades in the neighbourhood. He lived alone
with his wife and foster-child, a boy of fifteen whom he
had adopted in his old age.

As soon as the old woman had seen the most distant
symptom of visitors, she hastened to prepare the
samovar, and when the carts drove up to the door there
stood the old man and woman ready to receive the party
with deep salutations, and begged their visitors not to

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 267

refuse a cup of tea. Inside the room everything was
clean and tidy, though the air was heavy and close and
full of the stale odours of incense and lamp oil, for,
for fear of the winter's cold, the windows were small
and almost hermetically sealed against it.

After the fresh forest drive it was difficult to
breathe for the first few minutes, but the room con-
tained so many interesting things that the children soon
accustomed themselves to the heavy air and began to
look about them inquisitively. The mud floor was
strewn with pine foliage ; the benches went round the
walls, and a tame jackdaw with clipped wings hopped
about without being the least disturbed by the presence
of a large black cat. The two seemed very good
friends. The cat sat up on her two back legs washing
herself with her forepaws, and, whilst she pretended to
be quite indifferent, examined her guests from her half-
closed eyes. In the far corner stood a large wooden
table, covered with a white tablecloth with an em-
broidered border, and over it hung a shrine with an
antiquated, hideous, and distorted picture of a saint. It
was reported that the forester was a raskolnik (dis-
senter), and to this circumstance might be attributed
the unusual cleanliness and prosperity of his dwelling.

It is a well-known fact that these dissenters never
enter a tavern, and that they set great store by cleanli-
ness, both of their dwellings and of their lives. It was
further said that the forester yearly bribed both priest
and police with a big sum, in order that they should
not interfere with his convictions ; nor force him to go
to the orthodox church ; nor make any fuss whether

268 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

he went to the dissenting meeting or no. It was also
affirmed that he never ate a morsel in an orthodox
house, and that at home he kept separate dishes for
orthodox guests. Were such guests never so distin-
guished, he never offered them anything off plate or
dish from which he himself ate. It would have
rendered his vessel unclean, just as though a dog or
unclean animal had eaten from it. The children were
very anxious to ask, but they dared not, if Uncle Jacob
— for so they called the forester — thought them unclean.

For the rest they were very fond of Uncle Jacob.
To be with him was the greatest pleasure they could
imagine. When he sometimes came to Palibino to
visit them, he always made them some little present
which pleased them more than the most expensive toy.
For instance, once he had given them an elk calf, which
lived for long in their park but never became quite
tame.

The great copper samovar steamed on the table, and
different kinds of uncommon delicacies were spread
bsfore them — varenetz (a Russian dish made of sour
milk cooked in a particular way so as to be very rich
and tasty), pancakes with poppy-seed preserve, and
honey- cucumber — all dainties which the children never
tasted except at Uncle Jacob's. He entertained his
guests very zealously, but tasted not a bit himself. " Of
course it is true that he thinks us unclean," thought the
children. While he held a solemn, somewhat slow con-
versation with the tutor, he used several peculiar local
idioms which the children could not understand ; but
they greatly loved to hear old Jacob talk, for he knew

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 269

so much about the woods and the wild animals, and
what the animals thought and what they did.

It was already about six o'clock in the morning. (It
was wonderful to think that one was usually in bed at
that time when the day was really so far advanced.)
There was no time to tarry. Every one dispersed
through the wood, and shouted to one another so that
they might not get too far from each other or lose their
way.

Who would manage to pick most mushrooms ? That
question set all off, and self-interest at once blossomed
out. Tanja considered at that moment that nothing
was more important in all the world than that her
basket should be filled as quickly as possible. "O God !
let me get many, many mushrooms," she prayed passion-
ately, and as soon as she saw in the distance a yellow or
red-brown cap, off she went full speed so that no one
should be before her and rob her of her booty. But
what a mistake she had made ! Now it was a leaf
which she had taken for a mushroom ; now she fancied
it was a bright brown hat of the delicious rorsoppor
shyly peeping up out of the moss, and pounced upon
it eagerly, but instead of the head being white and
thick underneath, it was traversed by deep furrows,
and she discovered it was only a worthless kind which
had a deceptive likeness to the rorsoppor. But most
vexatious of all was it to Tanja to find that she had,
as it happened over and over again, passed a place
without noticing anything, while the sharp-eyed Fek-
luscha almost in her footsteps had gathered the most
delicious little mushroom. That horrid Fekluscha !

270 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

It seemed as though she knew exactly where the best
mushrooms were, as though she drew them out of the
ground by magic. Her basket was full already to the
brim, and that into the bargain with riskor and small
mushrooms, besides different kinds of rorsoppor, and she
had not thought it worth while to gather tickor and
pepparling. Her mushrooms looked so delightful and
appetising, one could have eaten them raw. Tanja's
basket, on the contrary, was only half full, and that of
all sorts of big, ugly, dirty mushrooms, so that she was
ashamed to show them.

At three o'clock another rest was taken. In the
meadow where the unharnessed horses were feasting, the
coachman had lit a fire. A servant ran down to the
neighbouring spring to fill a water-bottle. The servants
spread a tablecloth on the grass, and put the samovar
on it, and glasses and plates. The gentlefolk sat in a
group together, and the servants took up their places
respectfully at a little distance. But this arrangement
only lasted for the first quarter of an hour. It was
such a remarkable and special day, that all distinctions
were relaxed. All were possessed by the same devouring
interest, and so the company gradually mixed itself.
Every one wanted to boast of their own gathering and
to see how much others had gathered. Besides, every
one had something to relate about their adventures.
One had started a hare, another had seen a badger's
home, and a third had nearly stepped on a snake.

After eating and resting a little, mushroom picking
began again. But the previous eagerness was gone.
The weary feet almost gave way, and though there

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 271

were only a few more mushrooms in each basket,
they had all of a sudden become so heavy that they
seemed to pull the arms out of joint. The swollen
eyes refused to do their duty ; they saw mushrooms
where there were none, and glared at real mushrooms
without seeing them.

Tanja was now indifferent as to whether her
basket was filled or not, but on the contrary she
was more susceptible to the impressions of the
forest. The sun was going down, and its oblique
rays shot across the bare tree-stems, colouring them
with a brick-red light. The little forest lake, with flat
shore, lay so nonchalantly silent and still, that it seem
spellbound. The water was already dark, almost black,
only in one corner there was a glimmering crimson,
almost blood-red patch.

It was time to think of going home. The whole
party packed again into the carts. During the day
every one had been so engrossed with their own busi-
ness that no one had paid attention to others. But now
every one looked at each other and suddenly burst
into irresistible laughter. They all looked like fantastic
denizens of the wood. A single day spent in the open
air had tanned and crimsoned the faces, entangled their
hair, and brought their clothes into wild disorder. Of
course every one had put on their oldest clothes for this
forest expedition, so that they need not trouble to look
after them. But in the morning every one had looked
so nice, and now they were only too laughable. One
had lost her shoes in the wood, another had tatters
hanging round her instead of a skirt. Their head-gear

272 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

was specially remarkable. One maid-servant had stuck
a huge bunch of red rowan berries in her rough black
plait ; another had made a helmet of a fern leaf ; and
a third had stuck a huge mushroom on a cane and held
it like a parasol.

Tanja had twisted round her head a long trail of
hops, whose yellow-green sprays, mingling with the
brown hair which hung round her shoulders, gave
her the appearance of a Bacchante. Her cheeks glowed
and her eyes shone.

" Hail to Her Majesty Queen of the Gipsies ! " her
brother Fedja exclaimed, while he pretended to do her
homage.

And even the governess, after she had seen her, was
obliged to own with a sigh that she looked more like a
gipsy than a well brought up young lady. But the
governess little knew how Tanja in that moment longed
to be a real gipsy. That day in the wood had aroused
many wild nomad instincts in her. She did not at all
want to go home, but she would gladly have passed her
whole life in these wonderful, beautiful woods. Many
dreams and fantasies of distant journeys and of un-
heard-of adventures swarmed in her brain.

The journey homeward was a silent one. There was
no shouting and merry laughter, as in the morning.
All were tired, every one was quiet, and had a wonder-
ful, almost solemn feeling. Some of the servant-maids
started so sad and pathetic a song, that Tanja suddenly
felt her heart heavy with that strange, unreasoning
anguish which so often came over her after moments of
great high spirits. But in the anguish there was also

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 273

at the same moment such intense delight that she would
not have exchanged it for noisy happiness. When
Tanja got home and went to bed she could not sleep,
notwithstanding her weariness. As she lay in a feverish
state between sleeping and waking, a vision of the
forest kept rising before her. She saw it now far more
distinctly than in the daytime ; in truth she understood
better and more clearly its beauty both as a whole and
in its minutest detail. Various momentary impressions,
which had only flown past her without her being
conscious of them, returned with pertinacious vigour.
Here a huge ant's nest stood out from the background.
Tanja realised every little straw and leaf so clearly that
she could almost pick them up. Active ants, drawing
little white eggs after them, ran swiftly hither and
thither. Then of a sudden they would all disappear,
and in their place would be a soft white lump like a
snowball. Tanja distinguished now that the whole con-
sisted of fine spiders' webs. In the middle was a little
black speck. She wanted to pick up the lump in her
hand, but she had hardly thought of it, when the black
speck in the middle grew lively and a number of small
spiders shot out of it like rays from the centre to the
circumference, and ran busily backward and forward.
Tanja had really seen such a strange lump in the morn-
ing, but had hardly noticed it, and now it all came
back to her so clear and lifelike.

The weary Tanja tossed about a long time on the
bed without being able to chase away these reflected
scenes, till at last she fell into a calm sleep.

274 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

The wood which played so great a part in Tanja's
childish memories bordered the estate on one side. On
the other lay the garden, which reached down to the
lake, and beyond the lake extended fields and meadows.
Here among the verdure there was a small and miser-
able village, with a few hovels more like wild-beast
dens than human dwellings.

The soil in the Vitebsk government is not nearly
as fertile as the black earth of Russia and Little Russia.
The peasants in White Russia are known for their
poverty. The Emperor Nicholas, when passing through
the district, rightly called it " White Russia," <f a poor
beauty," in contradistinction to the Tambojsk govern-
ment, which he called a rich merchant's wife. From
the midst of this sparsely peopled tract, the Palibino
mansion stood out in striking relief, with its massive
stone walls ; its strange, foreign-looking terraces, in
summer bordered with climbing roses ; its spacious hot-
houses and forcing-pits. In summer time some life and
movement reigned in the neighbourhood, but in winter
it seemed all dead and unpeopled. Snow buried all the
garden paths, and was piled in high drifts even close to
the house. From the windows one saw nothing but a
white inanimate plain all round. Hours might pass
without a living being crossing the high road. Some-
times one might see a peasant's sledge drawn by a
thin, white, rime-frosted nag, and then all again was
dead without a sign of life or movement.

Wolves came at night close up to the house.
One winter's evening the Rajevsky family were all
gathered round the tea-table. In the big drawing-room

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 275

the crystal chandelier was lit, and the candle flames
were reflected in the tall mirrors on the walls ; round
the walls stood the rich silk-covered furniture ; and
from the windows stood out the jagged leaves of palms
and other hot-house plants. The tables were strewn
with books and foreign newspapers. Tea was finished,
but the children had not yet been sent to bed. The
General smoked and played patience. Madame Rajev-
sky sat at the piano, playing a few bars of Beethoven's
sonatas or a romance of Schuman's. Anyuta went from
room to room ; in fancy she was far away from her
surroundings. She saw herself in a brilliant company,
the queen of the ball.

Suddenly the valet Ilja opened the door. He said
nothing, but stood on the threshold, now on one leg,
now on the other, which was his fashion when he had
anything special to narrate.

'c What do you want ? " shouted the General,
presently.

" Nothing at all, your Excellency," with a meaning
smile. " I only came to say that a pack of wolves are
gathering by the lake. Perhaps your honours might
like to hear how they howl."

At this information of course the children get into
a wild state of excitement, and beg to be allowed to
go out on the steps. After various opinions had been
expressed about their getting chilled, the father gave
his consent at last to their request. The children,
wrapped up in furs and caps, went out, followed by
Ilja.

It was a glorious winter night. The cold was intense,

276 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

and almost took away one's breath. Though there was
no moonlight, there was the light from the snow and
from myriads of stars which seemed like great golden
nails thickly hammered over the sky. Tanja thought
that she had never seen the stars so clear as on that
evening. Their rays seemed to melt together, and they
twinkled so strangely that they seemed to glitter and
then to get dark again the next instant.

Wherever one looked, snow, nothing but snow, whole
masses, mountains high of snow, which covered and
made everything even. The steps up to the terraces
could not be seen at all. No one would ever have
noticed that one part was higher than the other in the
surrounding garden. There was only a white, smooth
plain, which passed without any break into the white
frozen lake.

But strangest of all was the stillness which reigned
— deep, undisturbed silence. The children had already
been some minutes out on the steps, and had heard
nothing. They began to be impatient. <f Where are
the wolves ? " they asked.

" It seems as though they were silent on purpose,"
answered Ilja, annoyed. <c But wait a little, they will
soon begin."

And at the same moment came a prolonged howl,
which was immediately answered by another. And
then there rose by the Jake a chorus so strange, so
melancholy, that one felt one's heart involuntarily
stand still.

" There are our boys ! " exclaimed Ilja, delighted.
" Now they have begun to sing. If one could only

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 277

understand why they are so happy on our lake ! There
are dozens of them there at night.

" What do you say to it, Polka ? " he said, turning
to the big Newfoundland, the pet of the whole house,
who had followed them out to the steps. " Do you
feel inclined to join them, and try the wolves' teeth a
little?"

But the concert had made a painful impression on
the dog. He who was generally so bold, tucked in
his tail and nestled up to the children, and his whole
appearance expressed the utmost terror.

The children began to feel a little frightened at the
strange, wild music. A nervous trembling took hold of
them, and they turned back to the warm, comfortable
room.

CHAPTER VIII.

WHEN the Rajevskys moved to the country and
took up their residence there, their eldest girl,
Anyuta, was just growing out of childhood.

Not long after their removal the Polish revolution
took place, and as Palibino lay on the very borders
between Lithuania and Russia, some of the after-heavings
of the storm made themselves felt there. Most of the
neighbouring proprietors, and amongst them some of
the richest and best educated, were Poles. Several of
them found themselves more or less compromised, some
had their properties confiscated, and all were called
upon to pay heavy fines. Many voluntarily gave up
their lands and went abroad. During the years which
followed that revolution, there were hardly any young
people in the district, as they had all moved away.
Only children and old people were left — innocent,
frightened beings, who were afraid of their own shadow
— together with newly appointed officials, shop people,
and smaller proprietors.

It is clear that country life under such circumstances
could not be very lively for a young girl. Besides,
Anyuta's education had in no way fitted her for rural
pursuits. She cared neither for walks nor for mush-

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 279

room expeditions, nor for rowing on the lake. So it
was natural that she refused suchlike dissipations which
were constantly suggested by the English governess,
and the antipathy between her and the governess grew
so strong that if the one proposed a thing the other
was sure to negative it. One summer Anyuta, how-
ever, took a sudden passion for riding, but it was chiefly
to imitate the heroine in the novel which at the moment
captivated her fancy. There was, however, no suitable
companion to accompany her, and she soon found the
solitary rides, without any other companion than a dull
groom, very stupid. Her riding horse, to which she
had given the romantic name of " Frida," soon returned
to its former ignominious business of carrying the
steward round the property, and was again known by
its previous name of " Gray."

There could be no possibility of Anyuta busying
herself with housewifely affairs. Any such suggestion
would have been repulsive to a degree both to her and
to those around her. Her whole training had tended
to make her a brilliant woman of the world. From her
seventh year she had been the queen of the children's
balls, to which, when her parents were living in a
large town, she often went. The General was proud
of her childish precocity, of which many legends remain
in the family.

" Only wait till Anyuta is big enough to be presented
at court ! She will turn the heads of all the grand
dukes," the General would sometimes say, naturally in
joke ; but unfortunately not only the younger children
but Anyuta herself took the words seriously.

280 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

Anyuta was really a beautiful girl, tall and well made,
and with her fine complexion and her magnificent,
fair curly hair might well be almost called a beauty.
And she had, besides, most enchanting manners. She
knew well that she could play the first and leading role
in any society she chose — and to be stuck down in a
desert in solitude and loneliness !

Every now and again she used to go to her father,
and, with tears in her eyes, would reproach him with
keeping her in the country. The General answered her
complaint at first with jokes ; but sometimes he tried
to explain to her and show her very logically how that,
in those days, the proprietor's duty was to live on his
property. If he left it to the wind and waves, he
would bring ruin on his family. Anyuta knew not
what to answer to this reasoning, but she knew only
that it did not make it any the easier for her. She
knew she would never get back her youth, which was
thus being wasted. After such a conversation she would
generally shut herself up in her room and weep.

But the General usually sent his wife and daughter to
stay with the aunts in St. Petersburg for a month or
six weeks every winter. But this somewhat expensive
arrangement was hardly any good. It only nourished
in Anyuta a love of pleasure without satisfying it. The
month in St. Petersburg passed so quickly that she
hardly realised it. She was not likely to meet in the
circles into which she went anything that could give her
thoughts a serious direction. No suitable lover pre-
sented himself. She got some new dresses, went a few
times to the theatre or to a ball at the nobles' club ;

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 281

sometimes a relative would give a party in her honour,
for people were very kind to her on account of her
beauty ; and then, just as she was beginning to taste the
pleasures of all this, they had suddenly to come back
to Palibino again, to the solitary, idle, dull life in the
great mansion, where she had no other dissipation than
wandering from room to room, living in thought again
the past joys, and gloating passionately over un-
productive dreams of new triumphs on the same
stage.

In order to make up for the dulness of her life, Anyuta
was for ever hitting upon now one, now another, and yet
another artificial fancy ; and as the inner life of each
member of the household was in want of the same
enlivenment, they all took a lively interest in any new
idea of hers which gave them an opportunity for con-
versation and discussion. Some laughed at her, some
sympathised with her, but for all she made a pleasant
interruption in the ordinary monotonous life.

But Tanja was the one above all to whom everything
that concerned or affected Anyuta was most deeply
interesting. The feeling which from her earliest years
she entertained for her older sister was of a very mixed
kind. Her admiration of Anyuta was boundless. She
obeyed Anyuta implicitly, and felt herself deeply flattered
if her eldest sister honoured her by communicating any-
thing to her in which she herself was interested. Tanja
would have gone through fire for her sister ; but, not-
withstanding this enthusiastic devotion, she felt towards
her that peculiar kind of grudge which we secretly,
almost unconsciously, nourish for those who stand

282 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

nearest to us, and whom we wish to resemble in every
particular.

The first act by which Anyuta, when she was hardly
fifteen, proclaimed her independence, was by taking
possession of all the novels in the Palibino library and
devouring an inconceivable number of them. There
were, of course, no " immoral " books in the house, but
there was no lack of bad, stupid books. The library
was specially rich in old English romances, mostly
historical, the scenes of which were laid in the Middle
Ages and in the days of chivalry. To Anyuta these
novels were a veritable discovery ; they opened to her a
wonderful and, till then, unknown world, and gave a
new character to her fancies. It happened to her as it
had happened to poor Don Quixote centuries before.
She believed in those knightly days, and imagined her-
self a mediaeval chatelaine.

Unfortunately the great massive mansion, with its
tower and Gothic windows, was built somewhat in the
fashion of a mediaeval castle. In her " cavalier " period,
Anyuta never wrote a letter without heading it " Chateau
Palibino." Anyuta had all the dust and cobwebs cleared
out of the highest room of the tower, which was unused
because it could only be reached by a steep and difficult
staircase. She hung it with old tapestries and weapons
which she found in some corner of the garret, and
turned it into her sitting-room. Her graceful, well-
made figure in a close-fitting robe of white stuff, and
her two long plaits of fair hair reaching to her waist,
made her quite a suitable model for a mediaeval beauty.
So she would sit leaning over her frame, embroidering

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 283

the Rajevsky family arms in gold and beads, while she
looked out of the window over the landscape awaiting
the coming knight.

" Sister Anne, sister Anne ! Do you see no one
coming? "

"I see but the dust blowing and the flowers growing."

Instead of the expected knight, she saw, perhaps, only
the policeman, or an old Jew who dealt with the General
in oxen and brandy. Knight there never was one —
and the unhappy sister Anne wearied in waiting for
him, till the " knightly " whim passed as suddenly as it
had begun.

She had already half unconsciously begun to be weary
of knightly tales, when all of a sudden one day she laid
hands upon an intensely exciting book, "Harold," by an
English author. The contents are as follows : After the
Battle of Hastings, Edith " Swan-Necked " finds among
the dead, the body of her lover, King Harold. Shortly
before the defeat he had been guilty of a breach of vows,
which was a mortal sin, and he died without confessing.
His soul was therefore doomed to everlasting torment.

From that day Edith vanished from her parental
home, and none even of her nearest relatives ever saw
her again. Many years passed, and the very memory
of Edith was by degrees blotted out.

On the opposite coast of England lay, amid wild
woods and mountains, a convent, known for its severe
rule. There had lived there for many years a nun who
had taken upon her an irrevocable vow of silence, and
who was revered by the whole convent for her pious
conduct. She gave herself no rest, night or day. Early

284 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

in the morning and even until midnight her kneeling
figure prostrated itself before the Christ in the convent
chapel. But whenever there was a duty to be done,
help to be given, suffering to be lightened, she was the
first to perform it. There was no deathbed in the
whole neighbourhood over which the figure of the
pale nun did not bend, and no brow damp with death
from which she did not kiss the cold dews with those
bloodless lips, sealed in everlasting silence.

But none knew who she was nor whence she came.
Twenty years previously there had knocked at the
cloister door a woman swathed in a black mantle, and
after a long and secret conversation with the abbess she
remained there for ever. That abbess had long been
dead, and the pale nun continued to move about like a
shadow, but no one living in the convent had ever heard
a sound from her lips.

The younger nuns and the poor of the neighbour-
hood worshipped her as a saint. Mothers brought
their sick children to her that she might lay her hands
upon them, in the hope that they should be cured
merely by her touch. But there were some folk who
considered that in her youth she must have committed
some very great sin, as she sought by such severe self-
punishment and penitence to atone for the past.

At last, after many years of self-sacrificing labour,
she drew near her last hour. All the nuns, old and
young, thronged round her deathbed ; even the abbess,
who long since had lost the use of her limbs, was carried
to her cell.

The priest entered. With the authority bestowed

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 285

upon him by Christ he loosed the dying woman from
her vow of silence, and exhorted her to say at last who
she was, and what sin or crime it was that weighed so
heavily on her conscience.

The dying nun raised herself wearily in bed. Her
bloodless lips were almost powerless after the long
silence — she had lost the use of human speech. For
some moments her face moved convulsively and
mechanically without sound. At last, obedient to
the holy father's command, the nun began to speak ;
but her voice, which had been silent for twenty years,
sounded feeble and unnatural.

" I am Edith," she stammered forth. " I am the
dead King Harold's bride."

At the sound of that name, which was accursed to all
the true servants of the Church, the nuns crossed them-
selves in horror. But the priest said : " My daughter,
he whom you loved on earth was a great sinner. King
Harold lies under the ban of the holy Mother Church,
and can never win forgiveness. He burns for ever in
hell fire. But God has seen thy many sorrows, He has
treasured of a surety thy many tears. Go in peace. In
paradise awaits thee another and eternal Bridegroom."

The dying woman's sunken wax-like cheeks glowed
with sudden crimson. In her eyes, from which it
seemed as though time had quenched the light, flashed
a passionate, feverish glow.

" What is paradise to me without Harold ? " she
exclaimed, to the horror of the nuns present. " If
Harold has not won forgiveness, may God not call me
to His kingdom."

286 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

The nuns stood silent, struck dumb with horror ;
but with a supernatural effort Edith raised herself from
her pallet and threw herself down before the crucifix.

" Almighty God," she cried, in her broken and hardly
human voice, " for some short moments of suffering
which Thy Son bore Thou didst pardon man's sin.
But for twenty years I have died daily, hourly, a long
and cruel death. Thou knowest, for Thou hast seen
my sufferings. If through them I have won Thy
favour, pardon Thou my Harold. Give me a sign
before I die ! Whilst we say * Our Father,' let the
light before the crucifix kindle of itself. Then shall I
know that my Harold has found mercy."

The priest read " Our Father," slowly and solemnly
pronouncing every word. The nuns, both young and
old, repeated after him the holy words. There was
not one who did not thrill with pity for the unlucky
Edith, none who would not have given their lives to
save Harold's soul.

Edith lay outstretched on the floor. Her body was
convulsed with the last throes of coming death. All
the life she had was concentrated in her eyes, which
stared immovably at the cross.

The light kindled not.

The priest read the prayers to the end. "Amen,"
he said, in a troubled tone.

The miracle had not taken place. Harold was not
forgiven.

From the lips of the pious Edith came a curse, and
her eyes closed for ever.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 287

It was this romance which brought about a crisis in
Anyuta's life. For the first time in her existence she
asked herself the question, " Is there a life after this ?
Is death the end of all ? Can two beloved ones meet
in another world and know each other again ? "

With the unrestrained eagerness which marked all
that Anyuta did, she took up this question as though
she was the first who had ever asked it ; and it seemed
to her so terribly serious that she could not live unless
she knew the answer. This crisis in Anyuta's view of
life affected even her younger sister.

It was a lovely summer evening. The sun was
setting, the heat had gone with it, and the air was
indescribably soft and pleasant. Through the open
windows floated the smell of roses and newly-cut hay.
From the farmyard came the lowing of the cows, the
bleating of sheep, and the watchman's call, and all the
other noises of a summer evening in the country, but
so softened and mellowed in sound by distance that
their tone seemed only to increase the beauty of the
silence and peace. The ten-year-old Tanja felt speci-
ally glad and peaceful. She had for a moment escaped
from her governess's watchful care, and flew up like an
arrow to the tower room to see what her sister was
doing. And what did she see?

Anyuta lay on the sofa, with her unbound hair gilded
with the sun's last rays, and wept and sobbed heavily —
sobbed as though her heart would break.

Tanja was horrified, and rushed up to her. " Darling
Anyuta, what is the matter ? " But she answered
nothing, only signed with her hand to Tanja to go

288 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

away and leave her in peace. But Tanja naturally
became only the more curious. It was a long time
before Anyuta answered, but at last she got up and
said, in a voice which seemed to Tanja almost broken :

" You would not understand me. I am not grieving
over myself, but over mankind. You are only a child,
and cannot understand serious things. I too was once
like that, but this wonderful, this terrible book " — she
showed Tanja the English romance — " has forced me to
look deeper into life's riddles, and now I understand
how empty and vain is all we strive after. The most
brilliant happiness, the truest love, all end in death.
And what awaits us, or if aught awaits us, we know
not and shall never know. Oh, it is awful, awful ! "

She broke out crying again, and buried her head in
the sofa cushion.

This genuine despair in a girl of sixteen who is first
led to thoughts of death by reading a high-wrought
English novel, the pathetic words and phrases taken
from the book and addressed to her ten-year-old sister,
all this may make a grown-up person smile. But
Tanja was truly half dead with fear, and felt the
greatest respect for the serious and profound thoughts
which occupied her sister. All the beauty of the
summer evening faded at once for her, and she felt
ashamed of the groundless gladness which had filled her
heart a moment before.

" But you always know there is a God, and that after
death we go to Him," she tried to answer. But her
sister looked on her tenderly, as an old and experienced
person looks at a child.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 289

" Yes, you are still in possession of your simple
child-faith. Let us speak no more of this," she said,
in a sad tone, but at the same time with such an expres-
sion of conscious superiority over her sister that that
little one felt ashamed of her own words.

Anyuta moved amongst the family during the
following days as one in gentle sorrow. Her whole
attitude proclaimed that she was cut loose from joys
of earth. All about seemed to say, " Memento mori."
Knights and fair dames and lovers' trysts were for-
gotten. What was the good of loving, wishing, hoping
for anything when death made an end of all. She read
no more English novels ; they had all become un-
attractive to her. Instead she read eagerly "The
Imitation of Christ," and decided, like Thomas a
Kempis, through self-renunciation and mortification
to stem the awakening doubts in her own mind.

With the servants she was extremely gentle and con-
siderate. If Tanja or Fedja asked her to do anything,
she no longer snubbed them as had often been the
case, but granted instantly what they asked, yet with
such an air of heartbroken resignation that Tanja felt
her heart sink even in the midst of all her happiness.

All the house entertained a great respect for
Anyuta's pious mood, and dealt with her as gently and
tenderly as if she had been sick or had had some great
sorrow. Only the governess shrugged her shoulders
disbelievingly, and her father joked at dinner about her
sad countenance. "Son air tenebreux." But Anyuta
took patiently her father's jest, and met the governess
with an unexpected affability which provoked the latter

20

29o THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

more than her former impertinence. When Tanja saw
her sister thus, she could no longer be glad over
anything without being ashamed that she could
not feel sad herself, and was in secret envious of
Anyuta, who had such strong, deep emotions. But
this mood did not last long. The I5th of September
was near — Madame Rajevsky's name's-day, which was
always kept with great rejoicing. All the neighbours
round for fifty versts came to Palibino, so that about
a hundred persons assembled there, and something
particular was always arranged for that day — fire-
works, tableaux, or acting. The preparations of course
began some while before. Madame Rajevsky herself
loved theatricals, and acted with much spirit and
talent. A small theatre had just been built at Palibino,
with drop-scene and scenery all complete. In the
neighbourhood there were some well-known theatre-
goers, who could all be turned into actors. Madame
Rajevsky would willingly have taken part in the acting,
but now, when she had a grown-up daughter, she
thought she could not with a good conscience have the
same deep interest in it for her own sake. She now
wanted to arrange it to give Anyuta pleasure. But at
that moment Anyuta had with much diligence worked
herself into the convent humour ! Madame Rajevsky
began carefully and quietly to work upon her daughter,
so as to attract her mind by degrees to this fete day,
Anyuta did not give in without evincing the greatest
contempt for the whole matter. It was such a lot of
trouble, and of what use was it ? But at last she con-
sented, with a virtuous semblance of not wishing to

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 291

disappoint the others. When the players had been
gathered together it was necessary to choose a piece
which should be acted. This is, as is well known, no
easy thing — it must both be amusing, not too broad, and
must not require too much property. At last they chose
the French vaudeville, Les CEufs de Perette. Anyuta
took a part for the first time as a grown-up lady in
acting, and naturally took a leading part. Rehearsals
began, and she displayed an unusual talent for acting.
In a single day her fear of death, her struggle between
faith and doubt and the fear of the mysterious. " here-
after," were at an end. From morning to evening her
clear voice sounded through the house singing French
couplets.

After Madame Rajevsky's name's-day Anyuta wept
again, but from quite a different cause. She wept
because her father would not consent to her eager
entreaties to send her to a theatrical school. She
thought now that her calling in life was to be a play
actor.

CHAPTER IX.

IN the days in which Anyuta Rajevsky dreamed only
of knights and shed bitter tears over Harold and
Edith's sad fate, nearly all the intelligent youth in the
rest of Russia was inspired by quite a different spirit
and had quite another ideal. Anyuta's fantastic day-
dreaming may therefore seem like an anachronism.

But the remote region where the Rajevskys lived
lay far removed from all centres of thought, and
Palibino was so shielded from the outer world that the
waves of new ideas never reached this peaceful haven
until long after they had arisen on the open sea. But
when they did once invade its shore, they at once
caught Anyuta and swept her along with them. How,
when, and whence these new ideas came into the
Rajevskys' household, it would be hard to say. It is
a known fact that each transition period is marked by
some peculiarity which leaves but few traces behind it.
A paleontologist, for example, will study the cross
section of a geological strata, and will find therein a
sharply defined flora or fauna. He will be able to
build up in his imagination, from such indications, a
picture of the world as it then appeared. If he
examines critically the overlying strata, he may find

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 293

quite other formations, quite other types, but how they
came or how they were developed from the former he
cannot always tell. Fossil remains of fully developed
types fill museums to overflowing, but a paleontologist
is overjoyed if he can by chance dig up, at any time, a
skull or a few teeth, or a bit of bone belonging to
an intermediate type, which may enable him to deter-
mine the way in which this development was effected.
It is almost as though nature herself eagerly destroyed
and blotted out all trace of her work ; as though she
would glory in the perfect work of creation in which
she 'Succeeds in giving life and form to the fully
developed thought, but at the same time unrelentingly
sweeps away all memories of her first and faulty
attempts.

It was a calm and peaceful life which the Rajev-
skys lived. The members grew up and aged, quarrelled
and made up, disputed, to pass the time, on this or
that magazine article, this or that scientific discovery,
but were at the same time fully persuaded that all
these questions belonged to the strange distant world,
and never could have any active bearing on their
even, everyday life ; and so, suddenly, before they knew
where they were, there arose beneath their eyes a
marvellous ferment, which came ever nearer, and
threatened to undermine the calm and patriarchal
existence ; a danger which came not only from one side,
but one which seemed to encircle them.

It may be said that at this period, from early in the
sixties to early in the seventies, all intelligent classes of
Russian society were engrossed in one absorbing con-

294 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

flict, family dissensions between parents and children.
There was hardly an aristocratic family in which there
was not some such quarrel. The misunderstandings
arose not over any actual practical matters, but over
mere theoretical and abstract questions. " Their
opinions differed. " It was only that, but that only
was enough to make children leave their parents and
parents turn off their children.

At that time there was a sort of epidemic of young
girls leaving their parental home. In the immediate
neighbourhood of Palibino all was (thank Heaven !) as
it should be ; but from every other direction, first from
one family and then from another, came the news of
daughters who had left home — some bent on study in
foreign lands, and others joining the Nihilists in St.
Petersburg.

What shocked the neighbours, parents, and teachers
in the neighbourhood of Palibino was a certain mys-
terious commune which it was said had been formed
in St. Petersburg. This was, ran the story, recruited
from all the young girls who wished to leave home.
Young people of both sexes, it was said, lived there in
the full rights of communism. Servants were not
permitted ; so ladies of quality had, with their own
hands, to scrub floors and dishes. It is, of course, under-
stood that no one who spread the rumour had ever
been in the same commune. Where it was located, or
how it could exist in St. Petersburg under the nose of
the police, that no one knew ; but there was no one
who harboured the least doubt of its existence.

In a short while signs of the times began to show

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 295

themselves in the Rajevskys' immediate neighbourhood.
The village priest, Father Fillip, had a son who formerly
delighted his father's heart with his obedience and
steadiness. But just as he finished his course at the
seminarium with almost the highest certificates, this
peaceful youth changed suddenly into a wilful son, and
refused sharp and short to become a priest, though he
only needed to reach out his hand to receive a com-
fortable living. His Worship the Bishop ordered
him before him, and exhorted him not to leave the
shelter of the Church. He let him plainly understand,
moreover, that it rested only with himself to become a
parish priest in the village of Ivanovo (the richest in
the government). He certainly had as a preliminary
to marry the former priest's daughter. Such was the
ancient custom that the living descended as a sort of
portion to one of the former incumbent's daughters.
But even this alluring prospect did not prove tempting
to the priest's young son. He preferred going to St.
Petersburg, entering his name as a student, and main-
taining himself there at his own cost, which came to
much the same thing as starvation.

Poor Father Fillip lamented terribly over his son's
folly. Had the lad even taken up jurisprudence,
which is esteemed as the most advantageous career,
the old man could have borne it. But his son had
instead taken up natural science, and came back for
his first vacation choke full of all sorts of nonsense,
pretending, for instance, that men are descended from
apes, and that Professor Setenchof had proved there
was no such thing as a soul except as a reflex

296 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

motion ; so that at last the father, in horror, had to
seize the holy water chalice and sprinkle him with holy
water.

When the young man had in former years come back
to his father's home from the seminarium during the
holidays, he had never neglected any of the Rajevsky
family feasts, or to pay his respects ; and later when he
joined the feast he had, as became a young man of
his position, sat at the further end of the table and
quietly enjoyed the name's-day cake without joining in
the conversation. But this summer it happened other-
wise. On the first name's-day which took place after
the young man's arrival, he chose to absent himself;
and to make matters worse, he arrived on an ordinary
day, and when the servant asked him what he wanted,
he answered quite simply that he had come to pay the
General a visit.

General Rajevsky had already heard many things
about the young Nihilist, and though he had noticed
his absence from the name's-day feast, he had not, of
course, troubled himself about such an insignificant
circumstance. Now, however, he was excessively
angry that the impudent young man should venture
to pay him a visit like an equal, for the priesthood in
Russia forms almost a caste by itself, which is con-
sidered to stand somewhat low in the social scale and
is always somewhat despised. The General determined
to give him a good lesson. He therefore told the
servants to inform him that the General only inter-
viewed petitioners or people who came on business in
the forenoon, or before one o'clock.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 297

The honest Ilja, who always understood with half
an eye what concerned his master, delivered the
message just in the spirit it was given him. But the
young man gave no sign, only just as he was going
away he said calmly, " Tell your master, with my
compliments, that I will never again set foot inside his
house ! "

Ilja delivered this message also, and one can easily
imagine what a sensation such an answer from an
underling made, not merely in the Rajevsky family, but
in the whole neighbourhood. But the most astounding
thing of all was that when Anyuta heard what had
happened, she rushed into her father's room, with her
cheeks burning and flaming with passion, and exclaimed,
" Why on earth have you insulted Alexi Fillippovitch,
father ? It was very wrong of you ; it is an ignoble
way of treating a worthy and honourable man." The
General stared at his daughter with wide-open eyes.
His astonishment was so great that he forgot for the
first moment how to answer her insolence. After the
first moment Anyuta's fiery courage sank, and she
hastened to the shelter of her own room.

When the General recovered from his astonishment,
he decided that it was better not to give his daughter's
behaviour any importance, and to treat it with ridicule.
At dinner he began to relate a story of an emperor's
daughter who took into her head to intercede for a
stable-boy. He certainly drew the princess and her
protege in the most ridiculous light. He was a master
of ridicule, and all the children were afraid of his talent.
But on that day Anyuta listened to her father's tale

298 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

calm and unmoved, but at the same time with an angry
and defiant air.

In order to emphasise her protest against the insult
which the young man had received, she began to take
every opportunity of meeting him either at the neigh-
bours' or in her walks.

Stephen, the coachman, narrated once at supper in
the servants' room how, with his own eyes, he had seen
Miss Anyuta walking tfae-a-tfoe with the priest's son in
the wood. It was so funny to see them. Miss Anyuta
walked silently along, with her eyes on the ground, swing-
ing her parasol backwards and forwards, and he close
beside her with his long sticks of legs, just like a
crane ! And the whole time he was talking and
fencing with his hands. And then he pulled out a
crumpled old book and began reading out of that to
her, just as if he were giving a lesson.

It must be owned that the priest's young son was
little like the legendary prince or the mediaeval knight
whom Anyuta had formerly dreamt of. > His long,
shapeless, awkward figure, thin, sinewy neck and
colourless face, surrounded by coarse yellow-red hair,
his large red hands, and his coarse and not always
blamelessly clean nails, all this could hardly have con-
duced to make him a very fascinating hero to a young
girl of aristocratic manners and inclinations. And,
indeed, no one could for a moment imagine that
Anyuta's interest in him had anything romantic about
it. There was evidently something lying below the
surface. And this was exactly what it was. The
young man's chief attraction for Anyuta was that he

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 299

had come straight from St. Petersburg, and had there
participated in all the newest ideas. Moreover, he had
even had the happiness of seeing with his own eyes,
though certainly only at a distance, so many of the
great men to whom the youth of that period looked
up with admiration and respect, Tschernyschefshefski,
Dobroljudof, Sljeptsef. This was quite sufficient to
make him himself interesting and captivating. Anyuta
had, into the bargain, to thank him for many books
which she could never otherwise have procured. The
Rajevskys only got the most solid and respectable
periodicals of the time — Revue des Deux Mondes and
the Athenaeum from abroad, and Russki Vjastnik from
Russia. As a great concession to the feeling of the time,
the General had that year also subscribed for Epocha,
Dostojevsky's journal. But now, 'through this young
man, Anyuta could be supplied with literature of quite
a different kind — Savremennik ("Our Age") and
Russkoje Slovo ("Russia's Word"), journals of which
every fresh number brought to light some new move-
ment among the young. Once he procured her even a
number of Herz's forbidden weekly paper, Kolokol
("Bells").

It would be unjust to say that Anyuta at once and
without criticising them accepted the new ideas which
her nihilistic friend preached to her. Many of them
disturbed her, and seemed to her altogether crude, and
she could dispute right well about them. But under
the influence of conversations with him, and reading
the books he procured her, she developed quickly, and
went further and further, not only every day, but every

300 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

hour. Towards autumn the young student was on
such bad terms with his father that he was told to
take himself off and not to come again next holidays.
But the seed he had sown in Anyuta's mind continued
to grow and flourish.

She changed even in outward appearance — dressed
herself in simple black clothes with smooth white
collar, and combed back her hair into a net. She now
despised all talk of balls and parties. In the forenoon
she let the servant's children come to her and she
taught them to read, and when she met an old woman
on the road she stood and talked to her long and kindly.

But what was most remarkable of all, Anyuta, who
formerly abhorred study of every kind, was now seized
with a perfect passion for studying. Instead of spend-
ing her money on rubbish and finery, she now ordered
whole boxes full of books, and those not novels, but
books with learned titles, such as " Human Physiology,"
" History of Civilisation," &c.

One day, she went in to her father and burst forth
with a most unexpected proposition — that he should
Jet her journey alone to St. Petersburg to study. The
General tried to turn her request into ridicule, as in
former times when Anyuta had announced herself un-
willing to live any longer in the country. But this
time she would not Jet herself be overawed. Neither
her father's joke nor his ridicule moved her. She
maintained with extraordinary warmth that because her
father found it necessary to live on his estate, that was
no reason why she should remain chained to the country,
where she found neither occupation nor pleasure.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 301

The General at last got angry and scolded her like
a little child. " If you can't understand for yourself
why it is the proper duty of every nice girl to stay
at home with her parents till she is married, I don't
intend to waste more of my time disputing with such
a fool."

Anyuta saw it was no good to resist. But from that
hour the relations between her and her father were
greatly strained, and they felt for each other a bitter-
ness which increased daily. At dinner, the only time
of day when they met, they hardly ever spoke to each
other direct ; but in every word they spoke there was
some pin-prick or wounding remark.

There was now a general and hitherto unknown
division in the Rajevsky family. There had, it is true,
never been many matters of common interest. Every
one lived each for their own interest. Now all ranged
themselves into two hostile camps.

The governess had from the first shown her hatred of
the new ideas. She christened Anyuta the Nihilist, and
the " advanced young woman," which latter nickname
had a specially venomous sound from her lips. She
instinctively understood that Anyuta had something in
view. At first she suspected her of some criminal
project — a secret flight from her home, a marriage with
the priest's son, or joining the celebrated " Commune."
She therefore took upon herself to spy out her doings.
And Anyuta, who felt that the governess suspected her,
enveloped herself studiously and, on purpose to irritate
her, in an attitude of offended and injured reserve.

Only Madame Rajevsky seemed to notice nothing of

302 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

what was going on round her, but went on, as usual,
trying to reconcile and smooth down every one.

It was not long before the spirit of strife which
reigned at Palibino infected the thirteen-year-old
Tanja. The governess had always striven to circum-
scribe her intercourse with Anyuta. But now she
sought strenuously to shelter her pupil from the
(t Nihilist " as from a plague. As much as she could
she prevented the sisters being alone together, and
looked upon every attempt of Tanja's to leave the
schoolroom and to go up to the grown-up's as a crime.

Her governess's espionage angered Tanja greatly.
She had a feeling that Anyuta was aspiring to some-
thing new, something wonderfully interesting ; and she
wanted terribly to know what it was all about. Almost
every time she came upon Anyuta unexpectedly she
was sitting at her writing-table busily writing. Tanja
tried to make her tell her what she was doing. But
Anyuta had already been lectured by the governess for
not being content with turning herself from the right
path, but trying to allure thence her little sister. So
she always drove Tanja away for fear of new com-
plaints. <c Now be good and run off. Malvina is sure
to come and surprise us together, and then there's a
fuss, as you know."

Tanja went back to the schoolroom angry with the
governess, whose fault it was that her sister would have
nothing to say to her. It became harder and harder for
the governess to manage her pupil. From the con-
versation which took place at the dinner-table, Tanja
principally gathered that it was no longer the fashion to

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 303

obey one's elders, and gradually the feeling of submis-
sion was weakened in her. There were almost daily
altercations with her governess ; and at last, after a
more than ordinarily stormy scene, Malvina decided
she could no longer remain with the Rajevskys.

As there had already been several threats of the kind,
Tanja did not at first think anything much of it. But
this time it was evident that it was serious. On her
side, the governess had already gone so far with threats
that she could not in honour withdraw. Tanja's
parents were so irritated with the constant altercations,
that they did not try to keep the Englishwoman, and
hoped there would be peace in the house when she was
gone. But not till the last moment of the very last
day came, did Tanja believe that the governess would
really go.

CHAPTER X.

THE old-fashioned portmanteau in its tidy linen
cover, tied up with ropes, had stood all the
morning in the lobby. On the top of it was piled a
whole battery of carton boxes, baskets, bags and
bundles, all the packages without which no old maid
can ever travel. In front of the steps waited the
tarantass, the harness of which was of the most
primitive and inferior kind. The coachman, Jacob,
always took it out when there was a long journey in
prospect. The maid-servants ran about, busily carrying
and stowing all the small parcels ; while the valet, Ilja,
stood motionless, leaning idly against the door-post
with the most contemptuous expression, which seemed
to say that the journey in question was nothing so
important to make such a fuss about. The whole
family were assembled in the dining-room. As usual
when any farewell was taking place, the General invited
them all to be seated before the leave-taking. The
family seated themselves in the place of honour in the
furthest corner, and a little way off the group of
servants, out of respect to their master, seated them-
selves on the very edge of the chairs. A few minutes

passed in respectful silence, for every one felt involun-

304

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 305

tarily more or less affected by the nervous anxiety
which accompanies all farewells. But when the General
gave the sign to rise, crossed himself in front of the
sacred picture, the others followed his example, and
then came the usual embraces and tears.

Tanja gazed at her governess, who, in her black
travelling dress, wrapped up in a thick warm shawl,
all at once seemed quite different to what she usually
looked. Malvina Jakovlevna seemed all of a sudden
to have become old ; her firm, strong figure seemed to
have shrunk and contracted ; her eyes (the two thunder-
bolts, as the children were accustomed naughtily to call
them in secret), those eyes which had never let a fault
of Tanja's escape her, were red and swollen and tearful.
The corners of the mouth were tremulous with nervous
emotion. For the first time in her life, Tanja felt
guilty towards her. The governess folded her pupil
in a long, convulsive embrace, and kissed her with an
extreme tenderness which Tanja had never expected.
" Don't forget me ; write soon. It is not easy to part
with a light heart from a child one has educated from
seven years old," she sobbed.

Tanja also clasped her tightly, and broke into
despairing tears. A painful sorrow seized her ; a
feeling of irreparable loss, as though, with the
governess's departure, the whole family must split
up ; and she was, moreover, conscious that she was
herself to blame. With a painful sense of shame she
recalled how, during the last few days — even that very
morning — she had in secret been jubilant at the thought
of the departure of the severe governess, and her own
approaching liberty.

21

306 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

" It serves me right," she said ; " now she is off
in earnest, and we must stay behind here all by our-
selves," and the next moment she was so miserable
at being without Malvina Jakovlevna, that she would
have done anything to keep her. She clutched hold
of her as if she could not let her go.

" It is time to be off," said some one, " if you want
to get to the town by daylight." Everything was
ready in the carriage, and the governess got in.
Another long embrace. "Take care, Miss, you don't
get under the horse's feet," some one called out to
Tanja, and off went the carriage.

Tanja rushed upstairs into a corner room, from
whence she could see the long birch avenue which
led from the house to the highway. She pressed her
face against the window-pane, and could not tear her-
self away as long as the carriage was in sight. The
feeling of guilt got stronger and stronger in her. Oh,
God ! what a bitter moment for her it was when
governess left ! All their squabbles (and they had
of late been innumerable) stood in quite a new light
now.

" She loved me : she would have stayed if she had
only known how much I loved her ! Now there is no
one who cares for me," she thought in her remorse, and
her sobs grew louder and louder.

" Are you making all those wry faces over Malvina ? "
asked her brother Fedja, who was passing, in a tone of
malicious astonishment.

"Let her be, Fedja. It does her credit that she was
so fond of her," heard Tanja behind her, in the voice of

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 307

an old aunt whom none of the children could bear
because they thought her false. Her brother's sneer
and her aunt's praise, bitter-sweet as it was, annoyed
Tanja and chilled her. She never could, from her
earliest days, bear to be comforted in any trouble by
some one to whom she was indifferent. So she shrank
away from her aunt's hand which lay caressingly on
her shoulder, and murmured, " I am neither sorry nor
affectionate," and so saying, she ran off.

The sight of the empty schoolroom nearly renewed
Tanja's paroxysm of grief, and the only thought which
at all comforted her was the feeling that now she might
be with her sister as much as she wished, and she made
up her mind to go to her at once.

Anyuta was walking up and down the big drawing-
room, as was her custom when anything troubled her.
She looked most preoccupied : her blue-green eyes were
intensely brilliant, but took in nothing of what was
passing around her. She herself did not know that her
step kept time to her thoughts. If she was in a
sorrowful mood, her step was heavy and slow ; if her
mind was occupied by pleasant thoughts, she went
quicker and quicker, till she began to run. Every one
in the house recognised this, and often joked her about
it. Tanja had often noticed her sister while she walked,
and wondered what she was thinking about.

Tanja knew by experience it was labour lost to try
to get a word out of Anyuta under such circumstances ;
but when she saw her walking as if she would never
stop, she lost patience, and began to talk to her.

" Anyuta, I am so sad — lend me one of your books

308 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

to read," she said, in a beseeching tone. But Anyuta
went on without seeming to hear her. All was silent
again for awhile.

"Anyuta, what are you thinking about?" Tanja at
last ventured to exclaim. "Oh, do stop — there's a
dear."

" You are too small still for me to talk to you about
it," she said, contemptuously.

But Tanja really felt at last seriously hurt. " Is it
really true? Will you never talk to me? Now that
Malvina is really gone, I thought we should be such
good friends, you and I, and there you go and send me
off ! Well, then, I shall go my own way ; but I shall
never care for you again — not one little, little bit ! "

With sobs in her throat, Tanja jumped up to run
away, when her sister called her back. Truth to tell,
Anyuta was burning to confide to some one what was
taking up so much of her thoughts ; and in default of
any one better, as there was no one in the house to
whom she could speak, she was obliged to put up with
her thirteen-year-old sister.

" Listen," she said ; " if you promise never, never,
under any circumstances whatsoever, to tell any one, I
will tell you a great secret."

Tanja's tears dried instantly, and her wrath vanished.
She naturally protested that she would be as silent as the
walls, and waited impatiently for what Anyuta was to
tell her.

" Come with me to my room," said the elder sister,
solemnly. " I will show you something — something
you never suspected."

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 309

And off she led Tanja to her room, and up to the
ancient writing-desk in which Tanja knew she kept
all her most important secrets. Slowly and very
pompously, in order to excite Tanja's curiosity to the
utmost, she drew out one of the drawers and took out
of it a big envelope with a business-like look and a red
seal with the words — "The Epoch Journal." The
envelope was addressed to Mademoiselle Nikitischna
Kusymin." This was the Rajevskys' housekeeper,
who was blindly devoted to Anyuta, and would have
gone through fire and water for her. From the cover
Anyuta took a small envelope on which was written,
" To be forwarded to Miss Anna Ivanovna Rajevsky,"
and finally she handed to Tanja a letter, written in a
bold, manly hand.

" Honoured Anna Ivanovna," read Tanja, " your
very kind letter and your marked confidence in me
interested me so much that I instantly took up your
story, with the following result.

" I own that it was not without secret trepidations
that I began to read. We journalists have so often the
sad duty of awakening from their hopeful illusions
young beginners who send their first literary efforts for
our judgment. On this occasion such a duty would
have been very painful to me. But after I read, my
fears lightened, and I was more and more captivated
by the youthful directness, the honest, warm feelings
which the story evinced. These qualities prepossessed
me so in your favour, that I am afraid I continue under
their influence, and therefore I dare not yet answer

310 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

categorically or impartially the question you ask as to
whether you may in time become a great authoress.
I .can only say, further, that I shall be very happy
to insert it in the next number of my journal. As to
your question, I advise you to work and write — for the
rest, time will show.

" I will not hide from you that there is much in the
story which is unfinished, much which is too naive ;
there are — forgive my bluntness — sins against the Rus-
sian grammar. But all these are only insignificant faults,
which you can easily overcome by work, and the whole
makes an undoubtedly pleasant impression.

" Therefore I again repeat, Write, write. It would
truly rejoice me if you would tell me something about
yourself — how old you are, and in what surroundings
you live ? It is of importance for me to know all this,
in order to judge your talents.

" Yours truly,

"FEDOR DOSTOJEVSKY."

Tanja read the note with the utmost astonishment,
and its letters danced before her eyes. The name
Dostojevsky was well known to her. During the last
few years it had often been mentioned at the dinner-
table in the quarrels between her father and sister.
Tanja knew that he was one of the foremost Russian
authors ; but how did he come to write to Anyuta, and
what did it all mean ? For a moment she thought that
her sister was playing a practical joke upon her, in
order to make merry over her simplicity.

After she had finished reading the letter, Tanja

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 311

gazed silently at Anyuta without knowing what to say.
The latter enjoyed her astonishment.

" Do you understand — do you see ? " at last she
exclaimed, with a voice shaking with glad emotion ; "I
have written a story and sent it to Dostojevsky without
telling any one a word about it — and you see he thinks
it very nice, and is putting it into his journal. So
at last I have got my desire — I am an authoress ! "
She almost screamed the last word in an outburst of
irresistible delight.

And in truth, if one wants to understand what this
word " authoress" meant to the two sisters, one must
remember that they lived in the wilderness, far from
every (even the least) movement of literary life. The
family, it is true, read much and ordered many books,
but to all of them, each book, each printed word,
came from a distance, from the unknown world with
which they had not an interest in common. Wonderful
as it may seem, it is nevertheless a fact that neither of
the sisters had ever seen any one who had ever seen
themselves in print. There certainly was in the district
town a schoolmaster about whom a sudden rumour
was spread that he was to be the correspondent of a
newspaper for that district, and Tanja remembers well
the respectful awe with which they met him ; till at
last it appeared that he was not the correspondent at
all, but that it was some journalist from St. Petersburg
who had stayed there on his journey through the town.

And now her own sister suddenly appeared before
her as an authoress, Tanja had no words in which to
express her delight and astonishment. She would only

312 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

throw herself round Anyuta's neck, pet her, and laugh
and talk all sorts of nonsense.

Anyuta dared not mention her success to any other
member of her family, not even to her mother, who
would be startled and go and tell her father. In his
eyes such an act as writing to Dostojevsky without
parental sanction, and submitting to his decision,
perhaps his scorn, would be a heavy crime. Poor
General Rajevsky ! He who had such a horror of
women writers, and suspected them all and individually
of every possible crime and misdemeanour which had
no connection whatsoever with literature ; he it was
who was doomed to be the father of an authoress.
Personally he had only known one blue-stocking, as
he called them, the Countess Rostoptschin, a famous
poetess. He had met her at Moscow at a time when
she was a brilliant and feted beauty, for whom the
whole of the aristocratic youth of that day, the General
included, sighed in vain. Later, many years after, he
came across her abroad at the Baden gaming tables.

" 1 could hardly trust my eyes," the General would
often say, " when I saw the Countess come into the
gambling room with a whole train of vagabonds after
her, one more vulgar than the other. They were all
laughing and talking and joking together with her as
familiarly as possible. She went up to the table and
began to throw down a mint of money, piece by piece.
Her eyes glittered and her cheeks flamed, and her
chignon got all awry. She played away everything she
had by degrees, and then cried out, ' Well, gentlemen,
I am cleared out. Nothing goes right. Come, Jet us

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 313

forget our worries in champagne.' Well, one can see
what it leads a woman to when she dabbles with pens
and ink ! "

It was therefore quite apparent that Anyuta would
not be eager to boast of her success to her father. But
it was just the mystery in which she was forced to
envelop her first ddbut in the path of literature which
gave it its special charm. Ah, how delicious it was,
a few weeks later, when the monthly number of the
" Epoch " came, and the sisters read on the title-page,
"Dreams; a story by Juri Orbjalof" (this was the
pseudonym Anyuta chose, as she could not use her own
name). Anyuta had naturally already read her story to
Tanja in MS., but when the child saw it in print it
seemed to her something altogether new and wonderful.

The story was as follows. The heroine, Liljenka,
lived in a circle of very elderly people, who had been
badly treated by life, and who had withdrawn to a quiet
corner there to find peace and forgetfulness. They
sought to implant in Liljenka their own fear of life
and its troubles. But the unknown life allured her
and drew her forth, as its distant echo came to her like
a far-off murmur of waves from an unseen ocean con-
cealed behind the mountains. She thought that there
was a place

"Where men lived in greatest happiness,
Where they lived a living life,
And did not spin their spider's web."

But where should she find these people ?

Unconsciously Liljenka was herself infected by the

3H THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

prejudices which surrounded her. Almost uncon-
sciously she asked herself at every step, Is it suitable
for a young lady to do so and so ? She wanted to tear
herself free from the narrow world in which she lived,
but all that was common or " unbecoming " frightened
her.

Once at a public festival in the town she made ac-
quaintance with a young student. Of course every
hero of a story in those days was a young student.
This young man made a great impression upon her,
but, as became a well-brought-up young lady, she did
not show him how much she liked him, and their
acquaintance broke off at their first meeting.

At first Liljenka sorrowed over this, but by degrees
she calmed herself. At last it was only when acciden-
tally, among the different memorials of her colourless
life — which she, like most other young girls, kept in
her drawer — she hit upon some reminder of that never-
to-be-forgotten day, that she hastened to shut her
drawer again, and would then during the whole day
be sad and preoccupied.

But one night she had a dream ; she thought that
the young student came to her and upbraided her for
not following him. The dream opened up to Liljenka
the picture of a more industrious life with a sympa-
thising friend, in a circle of good, talented men, a life
filled with bright and sunny happiness in the present,
and endless hope for the future. " Behold and repent ;
this is what your life might have been and mine ! "
said the student to her, and vanished.

Liljenka woke, and, under the influence of the

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 315

dream, decided that she would no longer be bound by
the fear of what was becoming . She had hitherto never
been in the street by herself without a maid or servant,
but she slipped off by herself, took the first droska, and
drove to the distant miserable street where she knew
her dear student lived. After seeking him long, and
after many adventures caused by her inexperience and
unpracticalness, she at last found his dwelling, but
there she was told by his companion that he had died
of typhus some days before. His companion told her
how hard and difficult his life had been, and how he
had suffered, and how often, when delirious, he .had
spoken of a young girl.

In order to comfort her, or perhaps as a reproach to
the weeping girl, he repeated for her DobroljudoPs
verse —

" I fear that death, like life, shall do me some ill turn ;
I fear that all I vainly long for here —
My heart's desire in life's first spring,
Shall smile on me delusively and fair
When strikes the hour of death upon my ear."

Liljenka hurried home, and none of her family
knew how she had spent the day. But she herself has
the full and abiding conviction that she has thrown
away her life. She dies shortly after, bemoaning her
wasted youth, from which she has not retained even
one sweet memory.

Anyuta's first success made her venturesome, and she
immediately began another story, which she finished in

316 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

a few weeks. The hero this time was a young man
named Michael, who was educated far from his family
in a monastery by his uncle, who was a monk. This
story Dostojevsky praised even more than the first, and
found her much improved.

But with its publication all the happiness was at an
end. Dostojevsky's letter reached the General's hands,
and the storm broke.

It happened on the 5th of September. A memorable
day in the Rajevsky family annals, as usual a number
of people had arrived. The post, which came once
a week to Palibino, was expected on that day. The
housekeeper, in whose name Anyuta corresponded with
Dostojevsky, usually met the postboy and took from
him the letters addressed to her before she carried the
post in to the General. But to-day she was busy with
the arrangements for the party, and unfortunately the
postman had had a drop too much in honour of Madame
Rajevsky's name's-day — that is to say he was dead drunk,
and they had sent a boy instead, who did not know all
these arrangements. So the postbag came into the
General without having undergone preliminary sorting
and sifting. The first letter which caught the General's
eye was a registered one addressed to the housekeeper,
and bearing the " Epoch " stamp. " What is this
little game ? " the housekeeper was asked, and told to
open the letter in his presence. One can, or rather more
justly speaking one cannot, picture what followed on this.
As ill luck would have it, Dostojevsky sent Anyuta in
this very letter the honorarium for her stories, some
three hundred roubles. This circumstance, the fact of

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 317

his daughter receiving money from an unknown person,
was to the General so shameful and insulting, that he
had a bad attack of serious illness. He had heart
disease as well as gall-stones, and the doctor had ex-
plained that every excitement was bad for him, and
might even cause death. The possibility of such a
catastrophe kept the family in constant anxiety. If any
of the children angered him, his face became dark blue,
and they were seized with fear lest he should die.
What would happen now when he was struck by such
a blow, and the house into the bargain full of guests ?
A regiment was quartered in the district town in the
neighbourhood of Palibino, and it being Madame
Rajevsky's name's-day, all the officers and their colonel
appeared to surprise her with the regimental band.

The name's-day banquet was already over. In
the big drawing-room, on the upper floor, all the
chandeliers and candelabra were lit, and the guests, who
had rested after dinner, had dressed, and were now
assembling for the ball. The young lieutenants were
puffing over the work of putting on their white gloves.
Before the mirrors were crowds of young girls in
tarlatan dresses and the huge crinolines which were
then the fashion.

Anyuta felt generally superior to the pleasures of
this small society, but to-day she was quite intoxicated
by it all — the gaily-clad guests, the music, the flood of
light, and the consciousness that she herself was the
most beautiful and admired person there. She forgot
her new dignity as a Russian authoress, forgot how
little these red-headed frowsy lieutenants were like the

3i8 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

ideal hero of whom she had dreamed ; she flitted about,
smiling at every one and everything, and enjoying the
consciousness that she could turn all their heads.
They only waited for the General to begin the dance.
Suddenly a servant entered and went up to Madame
Rajevsky. " His Excellency was ill — would her lady-
ship go down to him in his study ? "

Every one was startled. Madame Rajevsky got up,
hastily picked up her long silk train, and hastened
downstairs. The musicians in the next room, waiting
for the signal agreed upon to commence the quadrille,
got orders to wait awhile.

Half an hour passed. The guests became uneasy.
Suddenly Madame Rajevsky returned. Her counte-
nance was flushed with emotion, but she tried to appear
calm, and forced a strained smile. To the anxious
inquiries of her guests how the General was, she
answered evasively that he was not very well, but
begged them to excuse him and to begin the dance
at once.

All noticed that there was something wrong, but
politely refrained from questions, but all started off
dancing as busily as possible, as they were dressed for
it and had assembled for that purpose. And so the
ball began. When Anyuta now and again in the
quadrille passed her mother, she cast anxious glances
at her, and saw by her eyes something dreadful had
happened. She availed herself of a minute's interval
between two dances to take her mother aside with a
storm of questions.

" What have you done ? All is discovered. Father

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 319

has read Dostojevsky's letter to you, and is almost
dying of shame and anger," bemoaned poor Madame
Rajevsky, with difficulty keeping back her tears.

Anyuta became deadly pale, and her mother hastened
to add, " For God's sake command yourself ! Remem-
ber the house is full of guests, who would be only too
pleased if they had something to gossip about. Go
and dance as if nothing had happened."

And so both mother and daughter continued dancing
till morning, both half dead with fear of the tempest
which would burst over their heads as soon as the
guests were gone.

And a fearful tempest it was.

So long as the guests were there, the General shut
himself into his room and allowed no one in. In the
intervals of the dance Madame Rajevsky and Anyuta
rushed out of the ballroom and listened at his door,
but dared not venture in, but turned to each other,
tortured with the thought, " How is he ? Is he very
ill?"

When all was quiet in the house, he sent for Anyuta
and gave her a severe scolding. Among other things
he said — and he said much to her — was one special
phrase which engraved itself on her memory : " One
may well expect anything from a young girl who can
venture without her parent's knowledge to enter into
correspondence with a stranger and take money from
him. Now you sell your work, but I am not at all
sure the day will not come when you will sell yourself."
Poor Anyuta was seized with horror at these dreadful
words. She knew for certain that they were only

320 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

empty talk, but her father spoke confidently, and with
such deep conviction in his tone, and was deeply dis-
turbed and moved. His authority in her was so great
that for a moment she felt an awful suspense. Had
she really demeaned herself? Had she perhaps, without
knowing it, done something fearfully improper ?

The next few days, as always happened after any
household disturbance, every one went along as though
cold water had been thrown over them. The servants
already knew the whole story. Ilja had, as usual,
played the eaves-dropper at the interview between the
General and Anyuta, and explained things in his
fashion. Of course the tale was also rumoured round,
in an exaggerated and disfigured fashion, among the
neighbours ; and indeed for long after, the fearfully
improper behaviour of the young ladies of Palibino
was discussed in the neighbourhood.

By degrees the storm was laid. A phenomenon
took place among the Rajevskys which is pretty
common in Russian families. The children educated
their parents. The educational process began with
the mother.

At first, as in all the children's quarrels with their
father, she took entirely his side. His illness frightened
her. How could Anyuta trouble her father in this way !
Sometimes she went to Anyuta and tried to persuade
her. " Darling Anyuta, do as your father desires.
Promise never to write again, but turn to something
else. I remember when I was a girl I wanted very
much to learn to play the violin. But my father
would not permit it, because he thought it ungraceful

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 321

for a woman to use the fiddle-stick. Well, what did
it matter ? I, of course, did not oppose him ; I began
to take singing lessons instead. Why cannot you
abandon literature and take up some other occupation
instead ? " But when she saw that all her persuasion
was no good, but that Anyuta went about with the
same troubled, injured air, she began to think she was
wrong. There also awoke in her a curiosity to read
Anyuta's story, and then she became privately quite
proud that her daughter was an authoress.

In this way she gradually came over to Anyuta's
side, and the General found himself standing alone.

In the first moment of anger he had required a
promise from his daughter that she would never write
again, and only on this condition would he pardon
her. Anyuta naturally would not give in nor make
this promise, and the result was that they would not
speak to each other for many days, and Anyuta would
not appear at table. Madame Rajevsky ran from one
to the other, persuading and mediating ; till at last
the General gave in, and the first step in the path of
reconciliation was that he consented to hear Anyuta's
story.

The reading took place most solemnly. The whole
family was assembled. Fully conscious of the im-
portance and meaning of the moment, Anyuta read
with a voice quivering with emotion. The heroine's
position, her desire to get away from her own circle,
her suffering under the yoke of the prejudices which
oppressed her — all this was so like the authoress's own
experiences that it was recognised by every one. The

22

322 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

General listened silently, without uttering a word
during the reading. But when Anyuta came to the
last page, and could hardly suppress her own sobs as
she read how the dying Liljenka bewailed her own
wasted youth, her father's eyes suddenly filled with
tears. He got up without speaking, and left the
room. Neither that evening nor on the succeeding
days did he speak to Anyuta of her story, but he
behaved towards her with great tenderness, and every
one understood her cause was won.

From that day there was in truth for the Rajevskys
a time of gentleness and peace. The first event in the
new era was that the housekeeper, whom the General
had in his first anger sent about her business, was
graciously forgiven and kept her place.

The next act of indulgence was still more surprising.
The General permitted Anyuta to write to Dosto-
jevsky, on the condition only that she showed him her
letter, and promised that she should make acquaintance
with him in the approaching visit to St. Petersburg.
As has been already mentioned, Madame Rajevsky and
Anyuta were accustomed almost every winter to travel
to St. Petersburg, where the former had quite a colony
of old unmarried aunts on her mother's side. They all
lived together in a big house in the Vasili OstrofF, and
always kept two or three rooms at the service of any
relatives who might like to visit them. The General
usually remained quietly in the country, and Tanja
also, hitherto under the governess's care. But as the
Englishwoman had left, and the newly-imported Swiss
governess had not yet acquired sufficient authority,

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 323

Madame Rajevsky determined, to Tanja's great joy, to
take her with her.

The Rajevskys generally left in January, as the
sledging was then good. It was not quite an easy
undertaking in those days to travel to St. Petersburg.
First they had to go through sixty versts of country
roads with their own horses, then two hundred versts
on the state roads with post-horses, and then lastly
there was nearly a day's railway journey. The mother
and her two daughters travelled together in a great
covered carriage on a sledge drawn by six horses, and
behind followed the sledges with the maid and trunks.
These sledges had three horses each abreast, capari-
soned with bells, which jingled a merry accompani-
ment all the way and echoed through the travellers'
sleep, as they came now nearer, now more distant, and
then died away in the distance, and then fell again upon
the ear.

What an amount of preparation that journey re-
quired ! In the kitchen there was all the business of
providing dainties sufficient for the whole expedition.
The cook was famous through the whole country for
his pastry, and never did he display so much zeal in
this branch of his work as when he had to make pastry
for the family's journey.

And what a wonderful journey it was ! The first
sixty versts were through forests — thick, deep-towering
forests, only broken by a number of larger or smaller
lakes. In winter these lakes looked like huge plains
of snow, against which the solemn pine-forests sur-
rounding them were dark and sharply defined. The

324 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

journey was wonderful enough by day, but still more
so by night. Tanja slept soundly one minute, only to
wake the next with a sudden jolt of the vehicle, and
never knew at first where she was. The freshly-
lighted little carriage-lamp which hung from the roof
of the carriage cast a faint light over the strange4
sleeping figures, in their heavy pelisses and white
travelling caps. Were those really her mother and
sister? The frozen window-panes were encrusted
with wonderful silver patterns, and the sledge-bells
rang at intervals. All was so wonderful, so strange,
that for the first moment she was not able to realise
it all, and she only knew she was very stiff with lying
in an uncomfortable position. Suddenly a ray of in-
telligence would bring to her brain the consciousness
where they were and whither they were travelling, how
many wonders and new things were awaiting her, and
her heart leapt with joy. Yes, it was a wonderful
journey. It was for Tanja one of the brightest
memories of her childhood.

CHAPTER XI.

ON their arrival in St. Petersburg, Anyuta at once
wrote to Dostojevsky and asked him to call.
He appeared on the day fixed. With what feverish
anxiety both sisters awaited him ! An hour before
the right time they were listening eagerly for every
sound in the hall. This first visit of his, however,
passed off very unpleasantly.

As already mentioned, General Rajevsky was very
suspicious of everything which was connected with the
literary world, and it was only with an anxious heart
and secret trepidation that he gave his daughter leave
to make Dostojevsky's acquaintance.

" Remember, Lina, it is a great responsibility which
is resting upon you," he said to his wife before they
started. " Dostojevsky is a person who does not
belong to our class. What do we know about him ?
Nothing, but that he is a journalist, and has to boot
been in prison. That, I must say, is a first-class
recommendation ! You must promise to be very
cautious with him."

The first precaution he took was to insist that she
should be present at the first interview between Dosto-
jevsky and Anyuta, and she was not to leave them

together alone for a moment. Tanja had also asked

325

326 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

leave to be present at the interview. Two old German
aunts of Madame Rajevsky's also had, on some pre-
tence or other, called at this very moment, and stared
curiously at the author, as though he were a wild
beast, while they seated themselves on a sofa and
would not move till he had left.

Anyuta was extremely annoyed that this first meeting
with her great poet, which she had dreamt about so
much, should take place under such unfavourable
circumstances. Dostojevsky felt awkward and ill at
ease in the constrained atmosphere among all these old
ladies, and he too was annoyed. He appeared that
day to be sick and old, which was always the case
when he was not in a good temper. The whole time
he kept fingering his thin yellow beard and biting his
lips, and thus contorted his whole face.

Madame Rajevsky tried her very best to keep up
an interesting conversation. With her most fascinating
and attractive smile, but at the same time evidently
perplexed and ill at ease, she tried to say all sorts of
polite and pretty things to him, and to bring forward
deep questions.

Dostojevsky answered in monosyllables, with ap-
parent rudeness. At last Madame Rajevsky was at
the end of her resources also, and became silent.
After he had sat about half an hour, Fedor Dosto-
jevsky took his hat, bowed awkwardly and hur-
riedly, and went off without shaking hands with any
one.

When he had gone, Anyuta rushed into her room
and threw herself on her bed, weeping. " They

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 327

always spoil everything for me," she exclaimed,
sobbing convulsively.

Poor Madame Rajevsky felt herself guilty without
knowing why, and at the same time was vexed, for she
had striven so very hard to please every one. It was
rather hard on her. She also burst out weeping.
" There, you see — you are never, never pleased. Papa
allows you your way, gives you leave to know your
ideal, I sit a whole hour listening to his rudeness, and
then you throw all the blame on us."

In a word, every one was made unhappy, and had
an unpleasant impression of this visit which they had
all looked forward to with so much pleasure.

But five days later, Dostojevsky appeared at the
Rajevskys', and this time he came at a lucky moment.
Neither Madame Rajevsky nor her aunts were at
home, only the two sisters ; and the ice was broken.
Dostojevsky seized Anyuta's hand. They sat together
on the sofa, and began to talk away like old friends
of many years' standing. The conversation did not
languish as on the first occasion, nor did it halt along
from one dull subject to another. But Anyuta and
Dostojevsky were equally eager to say all they had in
their hearts, and outdid each other in their bright talk.

Tanja sat by them without mixing in the conver-
sation, and without taking her eyes off Dostojevsky,
whose least word she drank in eagerly. He appeared
to her to be quite another man — quite young, and so
simple and good, and at the same time full of genius.
" Can he really be forty-three ? " she thought ; " can he
be three times older than I am and more than twice as

328 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

old as Anyuta ? And he is into the bargain a great
author, and yet one can really converse with him as with
a friend." And Tanja thought, as she sat there so
intimately, that she liked him very much.

" And such a dear little sister as you have here ! " he
said, quite unexpectedly. The instant before he had
been talking to Anyuta on quite different subjects, and
seemed not to have remarked Tanja at all.

Tanja blushed crimson, and her heart filled with
gratitude to her sister, who, in answer to his remark,
began to tell Dostojevsky what a good, dependable
little sister Tanja was, and how she was the only one
in the family who understood and sympathised with
her. Anyuta warmed up in her praise, endowed her
with all sorts of wonderful abilities, till at last she
informed Dostojevsky that Tanja also wrote verses —
" really not at all bad ones, for her age " ; and,
notwithstanding the child's protests, she jumped up
and fetched two fat budgets of Tanja's poems, from
which Dostojevsky, with a little smile, read two or
three bits, which he praised. Anyuta beamed with
content. How Tanja loved her at that moment ! She
could have given her life for both these individuals,
whom she admired so greatly.

Three hours passed unnoticed. Suddenly there was
a ring at the vestibule bell. It was Madame Rajevsky,
who returned home from her shopping. Without
knowing of Dostojevsky's presence, she came in, with
her hat on, laden with parcels and apologising for
being late for dinner.

When she saw Dostojevsky sitting there so much at

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 329

home, alone with her daughter, she was astonished,
and began to be a little anxious. " What would the
General say about this ? " was her first thought. But the
girls flung themselves round her neck, and when she
saw them so bright and beaming she also thawed, and
ended by asking Dostojevsky to share their simple
dinner with them.

From that day he was quite at home at the Rajev-
skys', and as their visit to St. Petersburg was to be a
very short one, he visited them often three or four times
a week. It was particularly delightful when he came in
the evenings, and when there were no other strangers
there. Then he was specially charming and capti-
vating. 'In general conversation he could not talk.
He spoke best in monologue, and that only under the
condition that those present were sympathetic to him
and listened with strained attention. But if this
condition were fulfilled he could talk more brightly
and lucidly and vividly than any one.

Sometimes he would narrate the contents of novels
he intended to write ; sometimes scenes and circum-
stances of his own life. " Life has done me many an
ill turn," he would say sometimes. " But it may have
been so in order to prevent my being spoiled, and it
has managed this so thoroughly and completely that I
would gladly yield up my life now."

Some of Dostojevsky's brightest memories were
those connected with the publication of his first
novel, " Poor People." He began to write it when
he was quite young, when he was a pupil in an
engineer's school ; and ended it when he was twenty-

330 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

three, and after he had become a soldier. He sent it
to a journal, " Our Age," which had just been started
under the famous critic Bjalinsky, and the then rising
star, Nekrasof the poet, and the novelist Gregorovitsch,
who later became so famous. But he had hardly sent
off the manuscript when he repented it. Like most
authors, he suffered from the psychological peculiarity
that, so long as he was writing a romance, he himself
was delighted with it, and thought he had made a
great success and that it was a work of genius. But
as soon as his manuscript was ready and sent off to the
editor of some journal, he was seized with misgivings,
all the novel's faults stood out clearly before him, and
all the rest of the work he thought dull and meaning-
less. He felt an aversion to his own work, and was
ashamed of it. Perhaps there is no author who does
not -go through this psychological drubbing some time
or other, but Dostojevsky, with his nervous and
suspicious nature, suffered from it probably in an
unusual degree. " Bajlinsky will only laugh at my
" Poor People," he said to himself, sadly ; and this
idea gradually grew into a conviction with him. His
depression of spirit was so great during the first few
days after this manuscript was sent off, that he actually
tried to drown despair in dissipation. " All night," he
told his young friends, " I roamed about hither and
thither to different places, without enjoying myself, in
the depths of depression and in the bitterness of spirit.
The clock was striking four in the morning when I
came home. It was the month of May, and the
bright St. Petersburg nights were as bright as day. I

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 331

never could bear those nights : they always upset my
nerves and make me low-spirited. It was so at that
time. I could not sleep, but sat, with open windows
gloomy and sullen. I felt inclined to go and drown
myself. Suddenly I heard a ring at the door bell.
Who on earth could be coming at that hour? I
opened the door. Nekrasof and Grigorovitsch rushed
in and began, without saying a word, to embrace me
madly. I could not understand a thing, but gazed at
them wildly. At last I understood that they had, on
the previous evening, begun to read my book, just to
try the first ten pages or so ; then the next ten pages ;
and so on and on until they, before they knew where
they were, had read the whole at one sitting. When
they had got to the place where Pokrovsky's old
father runs after the son's coffin, Nekrasof — so Grigoro-
vitsch told me later — had struck the book with his
hand, ' The very devil of a lad.' They both determined
to go straight off after me. ' If he is sleeping, we will
wake him. It can't be helped ; it is more important
than all the sleep in the world.'

" You can imagine what it was to me," said
Dostojevsky, so carried away by his tale that he could
hardly speak for gladness. " There are many who
have succeeded, who have won fame, and who have
been congratulated ; but only think ! they came rushing
to me at four in the morning, with tears in their eyes, to
wake me — because it was worth more than sleep."

But however dear to Dostojevsky was Nekrasof s and
Grigorovitsch's sympathy, he considered Bjalinsky's
judgment of still greater importance, and was still

332 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

afraid of him. But even that severe critic was
fascinated by " Poor People," although he was at first
very cool towards the new author. Nekrasof had
unfortunately taken him the manuscript, exclaiming :
"A new Gogol has appeared."

" Well ! they grow like mushrooms out of the
ground," remarked Bjalinsky, unsympathetically, and
the unfortunate praise made him so cross that he could
not for long be induced to read the story. But at last
he read it, and at once called the young writer to him.

" I went to him with beating heart," said Dosto-
jevsky, " and he received me with the utmost dignity
and reserve." He looked at me silently, as if trying
to fathom me, and then said, c Do you yourself under-
stand what you have written ? ' And he asked this in
so severe a tone that I was frightened, and did not
know what to make of it. But after this introduction
followed a magnificent tirade. I was altogether aghast,
and thought, ' Have I really done anything so wonder-
ful?'"

Now came a time of life and activity in literature.
During the next year Turgenyef Gontscharof and
Herzen brought out their first work. Many other
new lights also illumined the literary heaven, which
later certainly proved only bright vanishing meteors,
though at their rising it was considered that they
would rank as stars of the first magnitude. The
public also evinced an unusual interest in literature.
More books and periodicals were purchased in Russia
at this time than at any other. From the west came
slight breezes of the tempestuous winds of 1848. All

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 333

Europe found itself in a state of combustion. Every
one awaited something. Every one prepared for what
was coming. Liberty, equality, and the rights of the
people were floating in the air, and still retained their
first intoxicating freshness.

There arose at St. Petersburg, particularly among
the students and pupils of the Polytechnic, numberless
small circles which, at starting at all events, had merely
a literary aim. Young men joined together to subscribe
for foreign books and journals, and met to read them
aloud. But in consequence of the severity of the
police in inexorably forbidding all meetings of any kind
whatsoever, the young men had to use the greatest
secrecy, and this led, in its turn, to the associations
quickly taking a political character. Petraschevsky, an
unusually gifted young man and a warm supporter of
Fourier's views, was the first who thought of uniting
all these small circles into a common organisation, and
forming them into a sort of political association. For
the rest, the object of the society by the documents
of the organisation — as it appeared in the action against
Petraschevsky — was wholly and purely of a theoretical
nature and perfectly innocent, if one compares it with
the later Nihilistic propaganda. Petraschevsky and his
kindred spirits had nothing in their minds which was
in any way aimed at the Emperor's life, or at open
disturbance. They certainly surrounded their meetings
with the greatest secrecy, but the questions which they
discussed all took an abstract aspect, and were some-
times almost na'ive — as, for example, "Can one
reconcile the principle of love in man with the murder

334 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

of spies and traitors ? " or, " Is the Greek religion at
variance with Fourier's ideal ? "

Dostojevsky also joined Petraschevsky. In the inquiry
which took place, he was charged with having read at
one of their meetings an account of Fourier's theory,
and had moreover proposed to establish a secret press.
For this small, unimportant crime Dostojevsky had to
pay with — Siberia.

The 23rd of April, 1849, was a ^ata^ day f°r
Petraschevskytes. Petraschevsky himself and thirty-
four of his comrades were arrested.

" On the evening of April 22nd, I came home at
two o'clock at night from one of our comrade's," said
Dostojevsky. " I undressed myself and went to bed, and
slept at once. But after an hour or so, I noticed in
my sleep that my room was full of strange and sus-
picious-looking people. I heard the clank of swords,
which were hacking at something. What did it all
mean ? I opened my eyes with an effort, and heard a
gentle, sympathetic voice say, ' Get up.' I looked up
and saw a police officer with a magnificent beard. But
it was not he who had spoken, but an officer in a
light blue uniform, with lieutenant-colonel's epaulets.
The light blue uniform is worn exclusively by gen-
darmes, a regiment which is always placed at the
service of the secret police. ' What on earth is the
matter ? ' I asked, as I raised myself in bed. * In the
Emperor's name.' I looked round. It was evidently
in the Emperor's name.

"At the door stood a soldier, also in light blue.
'Aha! is that how it stands?' I thought. 'Allow

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 335

me ' * Not a word. Dress yourself ; we can

wait,' interrupted the lieutenant-colonel, with a still
more sympathetic voice.

" While I dressed they turned over the leaves of
my books and inspected the room. They did not find
much, but poked about everywhere. They carefully
tied up my papers and letters. The commissary of
police seemed to inspect everything with the greatest
care. He crept into the stove and poked about with
his pipe-stem in the ashes. At his orders the gendarme
got a chair and climbed up to look on the top of the
stove, but the upper tier gave way, and he fell noisily,
first on to the chair and then on to the floor. This
seemed to convince both astute gentlemen that nothing
was at the top of the stove.

" We filed out, led by the frightened housekeeper
and her servant Ivan, who also was much frightened,
but who looked on with a kind of dull solemnity, as
though more suitable to the occasion.

"By the door stood a carriage. We went by the
canal to Kedjebron. There was a bustle and a stir
and a crowd of people. I met many friends, who
were all sleepy and silent. An official met us. A
continuous succession of gentlemen came up in light
blue uniforms with new victims. They put us into
different rooms, and the whole of the day passed in
painful uncertainty. For the rest they treated us
handsomely, gave us tea, breakfast, coffee, and dinner,
and the gendarmes pressed us to eat, bewailing we ate
so little.

" Towards the afternoon we were all taken to prison.

336 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

Strangely enough, it never struck me on the road where
I was going, but when I arrived I understood it at
once. I was led into a miserable little cell, faintly lit
by a little lamp standing on the high shelf by the
window, and I was left alone. My cell was evidently
so wet, that when the commandant on the next morning
came in he could not refrain from remarking, f This is
really not proper.' On my asking why I had been
arrested, he answered, * That you will know altogether
at the trial/ But the first examination; did not take
place till ten days later, and the whole time I was in
utter idleness. I had neither papers nor books. The
only interruption to the monotony was when the cell-
door opened, five times a day : at seven o'clock, when
they came to bring me water for washing and to dust
the room ; ten o'clock, for the inspector's round ; twelve
o'clock, to bring in dinner (two portions of cabbage or
some other soup, and a bit of veal torn in shreds, as
neither knives nor forks accompanied it) ; seven o'clock
for supper ; and lastly, when it got dark, they brought
the lamp, which after all was superfluous, as they gave
me nothing to do. Thus we were kept eight months.
After the first two months they gave us books, though
only very few ; but we grew so weary that we regarded
the days when we were examined as real festivals.
How the examination was developing, how it would
end, that we knew nothing about.

"But on the morning of February 22nd appeared an
unexpected officer at my door, and read my sentence.
I was to be shot. When was not mentioned. But an
hour had hardly passed when the inspector came and

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 337

ordered me to dress myself in my own clothes, not in
those of the State, which I had worn in prison. Under
a strong guard I was led out into the courtyard, where
already nineteen of my comrades were waiting. They
put us into carriages, four in each, with a soldier. It
was seven o'clock in the morning. Where they were
taking us we knew not. We asked the soldier, but
he answered that he dare not say. And as it was very
cold out, we could not see anything through the frozen
panes. I tried to rub the glass with my finger, but
the soldier said, f Don't do that, or I shall be beaten.'
There was evidently nothing to be done but to abstain
from satisfying our easily explicable curiosity.

" After what seemed to us a never-ending journey,
we arrived at last at the Semjenovskiplatsen ; a scaffold
was raised in the middle, and the whole twenty of us were
led up there two by two. After a long imprisonment
and separation from our comrades, we longed to greet
each other and to talk to each other, but we were
so closely watched we only succeeded in exchanging a
few words with those who stood nearest us. The
official stepped in front of the scaffold, and read out
our sentence. The punishment was to be carried out.
c The twenty times repeated words — sentenced to be
shot ' graved themselves on my memory, and often in
later years I would wake suddenly at night, thinking
that some one was shrieking them in my ear.

" Another circumstance comes to my mind with equal
vividness and clearness. I remember how the officer,
after he had finished reading, folded up the paper and
stuffed it into his pocket and stepped down from

23

338 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

the erection. At the same moment the sun came
out of the clouds, and it distinctly flashed across me—
* It is impossible ! they do not mean to shoot us.' I
said it to my next neighbour, but instead of answering
he pointed to the scaffold where stood a row of coffins
covered by a cloth.

" When I saw this, I lost all hope, and instead was
impressed with the conviction they meant to shoot us.

" I remember I became very frightened, but at the
same time determined not to show it. Therefore I
began to talk to my companion of every imaginable
thing. He told me afterwards that I was not at all
remarkably pale, and that I spoke all the time of a
story which I thought out, and which I was very sorry
not to write down. But I do not remember it in the
least. On the contrary, I remember a whole number
of isolated, inconsequent ideas which thronged upon me.

" A priest now stepped up on to the scaffold, and
invited those who would to confess. Only one of us
accepted his services, but when the priest stretched the
crucifix to us we all touched it with our lips.

" Three of my comrades, Petraschevsky, Grigorjef,
and Mombel, who were considered the most guilty, had
already been bound to stakes, and had a sort of sack
drawn over their heads. Opposite them a company of
soldiers were drawn up, only waiting the commandant's
fatal word * Fire.' I had, as I supposed, at the most
five minutes to live, and I decided to devote them to
thinking of myself. I tried to picture to myself how
it should all happen. Now I was full of life and con-
sciousness : in five minutes I should be nothing, or

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 339

someone or something quite different. From the place
where I stood the cupola of a church glittered in the
sun. I remember that I stared perseveringly at that
cupola and at the radiance which it gave forth, and I
was seized with the fancy that this radiance was my
new world, into which I should in five minutes be
absorbed. I remember how painful it was, this physical
aversion I had for the new unknown which approached
nearer and nearer.

"A strange stir took place on the scaffold. My
near-sightedness prevented me from distinguishing any-
thing, but I knew something was happening. Suddenly
I became aware of an officer riding full-tilt across the
square in our direction, and waving a white handker-
chief.

" This was an imperial messenger bringing us mercy.
Later, it proved mercy had been determined upon
previously ; and in truth how could it have been possible
to have punished with death twenty youths, some
hardly out of childhood, for offences so small ? But
the Emperor Nicholas had intended to punish us thus
in order to frighten us, so that we should remember his
laws.

" But the little comedy was one which had severe con-
sequences for many of us. When Grigorjef, one of the
ringleaders, was released from the stake he was silly ;
he had lost his senses during the fearful five minutes
he stood there with his eyes blindfolded waiting for
the fatal word of command, and he never afterwards
recovered his understanding. Furthermore, I do not
think there is a single one amongst us who has not

340 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

had some trouble in our nervous system since that
day.

" But there was another circumstance, which did not
make any impression upon me personally, which I did
not notice at the time, but which had also serious con-
sequences for many of us, and cost the life of one of
our party. It was the intense cold of that day, about
twenty-two degrees of frost Reamur. When we were
led on to the scaffold they took off not only our great-
coats, but jackets and vests, and left us without wrap of
any kind. We stood there for fully twenty minutes in
our shirts. When we went back to prison several of us
had our ears and toes frostbitten. One was ill with
inflammation of the lungs, which later on developed
into galloping consumption. But, I repeat, I cannot
remember, however much I try to recall it, that I had
the least consciousness of feeling cold.

" Instead of death we were sent for eight years' penal
servitude to Siberia, and were subjected for many years
after to police supervision."

Tanja and Anyuta knew that Dostojevsky suffered
from epilepsy, but this illness was in their eyes sur-
rounded by such a mysterious horror, that they never
ventured to make the most distant allusion to the
subject. To their astonishment he himself began to
speak of it, and narrated the circumstances under which
he was first attacked. It was after they had left their
prison, and had been transported to Siberia as colonists.
During this time he was fearfully lonely. Sometimes
for months he did not meet a living soul with whom
he could exchange a sensible word. Suddenly, and

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 341

c(uite unexpectedly, an old friend came to see him. It
was Easter eve. But in the gladness of meeting they
forgot the solemn occasion, and sat up the whole night
together talking, not being conscious of weariness or
how the time passed, and overwhelmed each other with
their talk. They conversed on subjects dear to both
— on literature, art, philosophy, and finally they came
to religion. His companion was an atheist, Dosto-
jevsky a believer, and both were warmly convinced of
the truth of their views.

" There is a God — there is ! " exclaimed at last
Dostojevsky, quite beyond himself with excitement.
At the same moment the bells of the neighbouring
church rang the matins of Easter morn. The air
trembled with the sound of their music. " And I felt,"
said Dostojevsky, " as though heaven descended to
earth and absorbed me. I literally felt inspired and
penetrated by God's spirit. ' There is a God ! ' I cried,
and then I knew nothing more."

" You strong people," he added, " have no idea of
the bliss which epileptics experience in the moments
preceding their attacks. Mahomet assures us in his
Koran that he had seen Paradise and had been there.
All sensible folk mock, laugh at him, and call him a liar
and a deceiver. But he did not lie. He had veritably
been in Paradise in an attack of epilepsy, from which
he suffered as I do.

" I do not know if this bliss lasted a second, an hour,
or a month, but, believe my word, I would not exchange
it for all the happiness life could give me."

Dostojevsky uttered these last few words in his

342 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

peculiar passionate whisper. The sisters sat as though
spell-bound by the magic force of his words. Both of
them were suddenly seized by the same idea, " He is
going to have another attack." His mouth was work-
ing convulsively, and his whole face was contorted.

Dostojevsky read clearly in their eyes what they
feared. He suddenly interrupted himself, passed his
hand over his face, and smiled a little.

" Do not be afraid," he said ; " I always know before-
hand when it is coming over me."

The girls felt ashamed and distressed that he should
have guessed their thoughts, as he certainly did. He
left almost directly, but the next day he told them that
he really had had a severe fit during the night.

Sometimes Dostojevsky was quite realistic in his
mode of expression, and quite forgot he was talking
to young girls, and put Madame Rajevsky into a
fearful state of mind. But, nevertheless, she and
Dostojevsky were soon very good friends. She
thought him a fine fellow, though she sometimes
almost lost patience with him.

At the close of their stay in St. Petersburg it occurred
to Madame Rajevsky to have a farewell party, and to
invite all her acquaintance. She also, of her own idea,
asked Dostojevsky to come. He hesitated long, but
at last she succeeded in persuading him — though she
had some cause to regret that she had done so. The
party was a melancholy affair. As the Rajevskys had
lived for ten years in the country, they had naturally no
circle of their own, in the ordinary meaning of the word,
in St. Petersburg. They had only old acquaintances and

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 343

friends who had long been separated in every direction.
Some of these had, during the ten years, made brilliant
careers, and had clambered up to the top of the social
ladder. Others had fallen into poverty and needy
circumstances, and lived a penurious existence in remote
quarters of the Vasili Ostroff, although possessing the
necessaries of life. There was nothing in common
between all these people, but nearly all accepted the
invitation and came to Madame Rajevsky out of
old friendship's sake, " pour est pauvre, chere
Helene."

It was a somewhat large and strangely mixed party
which met at the Rajevskys. Among the guests were the
wife and daughters of a minister (the minister himself
had promised to come later in the evening, for a moment,
but did not keep his word). There was also an old,
venerable, bald-headed, antiquated German, who occu-
pied an important office, and who smacked his toothless
mouth the whole time, while he constantly kissed
Madame Rajevsky's hand, and kept repeating to the
two girls, " Your mother was a great beauty ; neither
of her daughters are as lovely as she." There was also
an old ruined landed gentleman from the Baltic pro-
vinces, who stayed in St. Petersburg in the vain hope
of getting an advantageous appointment.

The guests moved about, interested in nothing and
indifferent to each other. All were dull, but as well-
bred people of the world to whom a dull party was an
inevitable part of their existence, they abandoned them-
selves to their fate without a murmur and bore the
deadly dulness with stoical bravery. One can imagine

344 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

how out of countenance Dostojevsky would be in such
company. Both by manners and position he was cut
off from the others. In honour of the great occasion
he had sacrificed his coat for evening dress. His clothes
fitted him badly, and made it difficult for him to move,
so that he felt beside himself. Besides, he was put out
from the instant he crossed the threshold of the drawing-
room. Like all nervous people, he experienced a feeling
of irritation when he was in a strange circle. The more
superficial, commonplace, and uncongenial the company
was, the more uncomfortable he became. He was
vexed, and at last sought some circumstance on which
to vent his bitterness.

Madame Rajevsky hastened to present him to the
other guests, but instead of saying a few customary
words, he only muttered something like a growl, and
turned his back on them.

The worst was, he evidently intended to absorb
Anyuta for his own exclusive benefit. He led her to
a corner of the room with the evident intention of
not letting her go. This was naturally at variance
with every social idea of what was proper. Into the
bargain, his manner towards her was not at all comme
il faut ; he took her hand and whispered several times
into her ear during the course of the conversation.
Anyuta became uncomfortable, and Madame Rajevsky
was quite wild. At first she tried to give a gentle
hint to Dostojevsky in order just to show him that he
was behaving badly. She also went, as though acci-
dentally, and called her daughter to send her off on
some errand.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 345

Anyuta tried to get up, but Dostojevsky held her
down with the utmost coolness.

" No ; stay where you are, Anne Ivanovna ; I have
not yet told you. ..."

But here Madame Rajevsky quite lost patience, and
went up to him.

" Excuse me," she said, " but as hostess Anyuta
must attend to the other guests." She spoke sharply
and carried off her daughter.

Dostojevsky, deeply offended, crept into a corner
and sat sullenly there, glancing angrily round.

Among the guests was one who from the first moment
displeased him. It was a distant cousin of the Rajev-
skys, an officer of cuirassiers. He was handsome, gifted,
well educated, and moving in the best circles, and all
this was in a pleasant, inoffensive way, with nothing
outrd or exaggerated about it. But by the rights of
relationship he paid Anyuta court just in the same
unobtrusive way, so that it never attracted attention
but just gave a suggestion that he f< had his plans."
As usual on such occasions, the whole family knew he
was an eligible lover and much run after, but every
one, of course, pretended not to have the least sus-
picion of such a probability. Even when Madame
Rajevsky was alone with her aunts, they would barely
have ventured half a word on the subject, and only
distantly alluded to this delicate subject. But Dosto-
jevsky needed only to glance at the tall, well-propor-
tioned, self-possessed man to conjure up a dislike to
him almost bordering on hatred.

The young cuirassier sat in an easy-chair in a pictur-

346 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

esque attitude which allowed him to show off a pair of
most fashionable trousers, which fitted closely his long,
well-made legs. He bent confidentially towards Anyuta
as he sat near her, and told her some funny story, and
Anyuta, who was still abashed at the episode with
Dostojevsky, listened to him with a stereotyped smile —
" smiling like a kind angel," as the English governess
spitefully called it. Dostojevsky glared at the two.
His head immediately conjured up a whole romance.
Anyuta hated and despised that idiot, that self-con-
ceited whipper-snapper, but her parents wished to
marry her off to him and brought them together thus.
The whole party was naturally made up for the pur-
pose. After thinking out this romance, Dostojevsky
thought himself much injured.

The fashionable subject of conversation this winter
was a book published by an English clergyman, a
parallel between the Greek and Protestant religions.
In the Russo-German circles this was a subject which
interested every one, and when the conversation natu-
rally turned upon this topic, it really became a little
more lively. Madame Rajevsky, herself a German,
remarked that one of the advantages of Protestantism
was that the Gospels were more read.

" Is the gospel written for women of the world ? "
asked Dostojevsky suddenly, who hitherto had preserved
an obstinate silence. " In one place it is written, * In
the beginning God made male and female ' ; and in
another place, 'A man shall leave his father and mother,
and cleave unto his wife.' This is what Christ says of
marriage. But what is to be said of those mothers

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 347

whose only thought is to get their daughters married
as advantageously as possible ? "

Dostojevsky had spoken with marked emphasis.
According to his wont when he was excited, he
crouched his whole frame together, and, as it were,
shot out his sentences. The words had an indescrib-
able effect. All the well-bred Germans stared at him,
struck dumb and frightened. Only after a few seconds
they were struck with the impropriety of his words,
and all began talking at once to obliterate the impres-
sion.

Dostojevsky darted looks of hatred and dislike at
them, and withdrew into his corner and did not speak
again during the whole evening.

When he next appeared at the Rajevskys', Madame
Rajevsky behaved very coolly to him to show she was
hurt. But with her extreme goodness and gentleness
she could not long be angry with any one, least of all
with such a man as Dostojevsky. So they were soon
friends again, and everything was on its usual footing.

But the relationship between Anyuta and Dosto-
jevsky was quite altered after the party. It passed,
as it were, into a new stage. Anyuta no longer let
herself be impressed by him, but seemed to enjoy
being particularly contrary with him, worrying him at
every turn. He, on his side, showed himself irritable
and quarrelsome' with her, began to require an account
from her as to how she passed the day when he was
not with her, and showed a dislike for any one she
seemed to like. His visits were none the less constant ;
on the contrary, he came oftener and stayed longer

348 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

than usual, though he quarrelled nearly all the time
with Anyuta.

At the beginning of the acquaintance she had been
ready to give up all pleasures and parties on the days
when she expected Dostojevsky, and when he was in
the room she thought of no one else. But now all
was changed. If he came and there were other guests,
she calmly entertained them ; and if she happened to
be invited elsewhere on the evenings Dostojevsky had
promised to come, she wrote and excused herself to
him. The next day Dostojevsky used generally to
come in a very bad temper. Anyuta seemed as if she
did not notice his dejection, but took her work and
began to sew.

This annoyed Dostojevsky still more. He sat in a
corner and was silent. Anyuta was also silent.

" Put down your sewing," he said at last, as he
could no longer bear it, and took her work from
her.

Anyuta resignedly folded her hands, but did not
speak.

" Where were you yesterday ? " asked Dostojevsky,
irritably.

" At a ball," answered Anyuta, indifferently.

" And danced ? "

" Naturally."

" With your cousin ? "

"With him and with others."

" And that pleases you ? " asked Dostojevsky, con-
tinuing his catechism.

Anyuta shrugged her shoulders. " Yes, of course,

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 349

for lack of anything better," she answered, and took
up her work again.

Dostojevsky was silent for a moment.

" You are a light-minded, thoughtless doll — that is
the truth," he would at last exclaim.

This was now their usual style of conversation, while
the understanding between Anyuta and him became
worse and worse. His friendship with the fourteen-year-
old Tanja grew. She became each day more charmed
with him and confided in him blindly. He naturally
noticed her boundless worship and admiration, and was
pleased with it. He was for ever holding Tanja up to
her sister as an example.

When sometimes he uttered a deep thought, or made
a paradoxical remark full of genius, or combated the
whole accepted system of morals, Anyuta pretended not
to understand him. While Tanja's eyes danced with
delight, her sister answered him in order to irritate him
with some stupid, trite truism.

" You have a dull and feeble mind," exclaimed
Dostojevsky. " Look at your sister. She is hardly
more than a child. She understands me. It is she who
has cleverness and insight."

Tanja always blushed with pleasure, and if it had
been necessary she would have let herself be cut in
pieces for him.

And truly, however wonderful it may seem, the
fourteen-year-old Tanja did understand him. She felt
that his heart was full of tenderness and warm feelings.
She honoured him, not for his genius only, but for the
sufferings he had gone through. In consequence of

350 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

her lonely childhood, her humility, and her conscious-
ness that her family loved her less than the others, her
inner world was far deeper and more developed than
that of other girls of her age. From her earliest years
she had felt the need of a strong, exclusive affection,
and with the intensity which formed the principal
feature of her character, she concentrated all her
thoughts, all her energies, in a rapturous worship of
this highly-strung, gifted man.

She thought constantly of Dostojevsky, and when
she was alone repeated in her thoughts all he had
said during the last conversation, pondering deeply on
now one, now another of his words, and trying to
understand and develop the thoughts he threw out.
It was just the originality of his thoughts, the fecun-
dity of the new ideas which he brought to her, that
thus captivated her. It happened also that she often
gave way to the most fantastic dreams about Dosto-
jevsky, never with regard to the future but always
about his past history. For example, she dreamed
for hours together that she was with Dostojevsky in
prison. She filled up and completed in fancy many
episodes of his life which he had only touched upon,
and lived through them herself in thought with him.
If Dostojevsky could have gazed into Tanja's heart,
he certainly would have been troubled could he have
seen what he had done. But it was just the mis-
fortune of the so-called " awkward age " in which
Tanja was that the feelings are almost as deep as
those of grown-up people, and yet express themselves
in a childish, laughable way, so that it is difficult for a

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 351

grown-up person to guess what is passing in the mind
of a fourteen-year-old girl.

In the depths of her heart Tanja was very glad that
Dostojevsky no longer cared as much for Anyuta as in
the beginning of their acquaintance. She was ashamed of
the feeling, and considered it a kind of treachery to her
sister. Without being willing to admit it to herself,
she sought to enter into a compromise with her con-
science and to atone for her secret sin by special affec-
tionateness and dutifulness, but her consciousness of
sin did not prevent her involuntarily rejoicing when
Anyuta and Dostojevsky quarrelled.

Dostojevsky called Tanja his little friend, and she
thought in her innocence that she was dearer to him
than her elder sister, and understood him better. He
even praised her appearance to Anyuta.

" You fancy," he said to the latter, " that you are
beautiful ; but your little sister will in time be more
beautiful than you. Her face is much more expressive,
and she has regular gipsy eyes. You are only a rather
pretty little German, that is all."

Anyuta smiled disdainfully. Tanja, on the contrary,
drank in with rapture this praise of her beauty, which
she had never heard before.

Cf But is it really true ? " she asked herself, anxiously ;
and she began to be full of grave fears lest her sister
should be injured by the preference he showed her.

Tanja was very anxious to know what | Anyuta her-
self thought of it, and if it was true that she would be
beautiful when she grew up. This last-question was of
special interest to her. In St. Petersburg both the

352 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

sisters slept in the same room, and at night, when they
were undressing, they had their most confidential chats.
Anyuta stood as usual before her big looking-glass,
and shook out her long fair hair, which at night she
plaited in two long plaits. This occupation took time,
for her hair was unusually long and silky, and she drew
the comb gently and carefully through it. Tanja sat
on her bed already undressed, with her hands clasped
round her knees, thinking how she should begin the
conversation which was so much in her mind.

" What silly things Dostojevsky said to-day," she
began at last, trying to appear as indifferent as possible.

" Which things ? " said Anyuta, for she had evidently
quite forgotten what seemed to Tanja such an im-
portant conversation.

" Why, that I had gipsy eyes, and should be hand-
some some day," said Tanja, and felt herself blushing
red up to her ears.

Anyuta let her hands which held the comb sink, and
turned her head with a graceful movement towards
her sister.

" Tou fancy Dostojevsky thinks you pretty, prettier
than I am ? " she asked, looking at Tanja with a sly,
enigmatical look.

This crafty smile, those green, laughing eyes, and the
fair, loose, flowing hair made her look like a regular
water-nymph. In the big mirror on the wall close by
the bed, Tanja saw her own little dark face, and com-
pared it with her sister's. It would be wrong to say
that the comparison pleased her, but her sister's self-
satisfied tone irritated her, and she would not give in.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 353

" Tastes differ ! " she exclaimed, hotly.
" Yes, tastes differ strangely ! " remarked Anyuta,
calmly continuing to comb her hair.

Tanja hid her face in the pillows, and meditated
over the matter even long after the lights were put out.
" Can Dostojevsky really have such bad taste as to
think I am prettier than Anyuta ? " she wondered,
mechanically ; and, after her childish fashion, she
prayed in thought, " O God, let all the world be in
love with Anyuta, but let Dostojevsky, at all events,
think me the most beautiful."

But Tanja's illusions on this point were soon to have
a fatal blow.

Among the social talents which Dostojevsky encour-
aged Tanja to improve was music. She had learned to
play the piano till then, much like other girls, without
any special liking or dislike for it. She had only a
pretty fair ear for music, but from her fifth year she
had been forced to play scales and exercises for an hour
and a half every day ; so that by the time she was
fourteen she had a good deal of execution, a certain
amount of aplomb, and could read music pretty well.

Once, at the commencement of their acquaintance,
she happened to play Dostojevsky a piece of music
which she managed fairly well — variations on a popular
Russian air. He was not musical. He was one of
those people whose enjoyment of music depends entirely
on subjective circumstances and on the humour of the
moment. Sometimes the most exquisite artistic play-
ing would only make him yawn ; at other times he
would be moved to tears by a street organ.

24

354 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

On the occasion in question, while Tanja was play-
ing Dostojevsky happened to be in a susceptible mood.
He therefore happened to be delighted with her play-
ing, and, as was his wont with her, gave her exaggerated
praise — she had so much talent, and feeling, and God
knows what all !

It will be easily understood that Tanja had from
that day a perfect passion for music. She asked her
mother to let her have lessons from a clever teacher,
and during the whole time of their stay in St. Peters-
burg she spent every spare moment at the piano, so
that in three months she really made much progress.

She had prepared a great surprise for Dostojevsky.
He had once in her presence chanced to say that of all
music, he loved best the Sonta-pathJtique of Beethoven,
and that it always awoke in him a world of forgotten
feelings. Notwithstanding that the piece surpassed in
difficulty any which Tanja had yet played, she decided
to learn this, cost what it might ; and after much
trouble and effort, she had really managed to play it
just tolerably. Now she only waited a suitable occa-
sion on which to please Dostojevsky with it. And this
opportunity soon offered itself.

The Rajevskys were leaving St. Petersburg in five or
six days. Madame Rajevsky and all her aunts were
invited to a big dinner at an ambassador's who was an
old friend of her family. Anyuta had already wearied
of dinners and parties, and feigned a headache, so that
both sisters were alone together. Dostojevsky came
the same evening.

The coming journey, the consciousness that none of

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 355

the elders were at home, and that such an evening
would never come again, made both girls feel happy
and in good spirits. Dostojevsky was also strange and
nervous, but not irritable, as he had often been lately,
but very gentle and friendly.

Now was the moment to play his favourite piece
to him. Tanja delighted herself with the pleasure it
would be to him.

She began to play. The difficult piece required her
attention to every note. The fear of playing a false
note so entirely took up her attention, that she gave no
notice to what was going on around her. When she
finished, in the self-satisfied consciousness that she had
done it admirably, she sat there with weary fingers, but
still so excited by the music and the pleasant emotion
which always follows a well-done piece of work, and
awaited the well-earned applause. But all was silent
round her. Tanja looked round. There was no one
in the room !

She was wounded to the heart. Still, with no definite
suspicion, but with a suffocating feeling of coming mis-
fortune, she went into the next room. That also was
empty. Lastly, she lifted the curtain which hung
before the opening into the little corner room, and
there she perceived Fedor Dostojevsky and Anyuta —
and she could not believe her eyes.

They sat near one another on the little sofa. The
room was dimly lit by a lamp with a large shade, whose
shadow fell on her sister so that Tanja could not dis-
tinguish her expression. But Dostoievsky's face she
saw clearly. It was pale and excited; he held Anyuta's

356 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

hand in his while he leant toward her and spoke to
her in passionate whispers, which Tanja knew so well
and loved so dearly.

" My darling Anna Ivanovna, don't you understand
that I loved you from the first moment I saw you !
Even before, when I read your letter, I had a pre-
sentiment of it. And it is not merely as a friend I
love you, but passionately, with my whole being."

Tanja's head swam. A feeling of bitter loneliness
and of treachery seized her. The blood seemed to rush
to her heart, and to rush in fiery flames to her head.
She dropped the curtain and rushed out of the room.
She heard a chair fall which she had knocked down.
" Are you there, Tanja ? " cried her sister's frightened
voice. But she answered not nor stopped till she had
reached her bedroom, in the other part of the house,
at the end of a long corridor. When she got there,
she hastened at once to undress, without a light.
Pulling off her dress and petticoats, she threw herself,
half-undressed, on her bed, and hid herself under the
sheets. At this moment her only thought was one of
fear that her sister might come and drag her back to
the drawing-room. How could she see them ?

A feeling she had never before experienced of
bitterness, of injury and shame, and especially of shame
and injury, filled her heart. Till now she had not,
in her inmost thoughts, been aware of her feeling for
Dostojevsky, or known that she was in love with
him.

Even at fourteen she had already heard and read
much of love ; but it never occurred to her that to be

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 357

in love with people was anything which happened in
real life, but only in novels. As far as Dostojevsky
was concerned, all she desired was that all her life
should pass like these three months.

" And now it is all over — all over ! " she repeated,
in distress ; and now for the first time all was irrevo-
cably lost, she saw for the first time how happy she
had been during her whole time — yesterday — even to-
day— even a few minutes ago — and now, oh, now ! "

What it was that was over, what it was that was
changed, she did not clearly know. She only knew
that all of a sudden for her life was no longer worth
living.

<c And how they must laugh at me ! Why did he
cheat me so, and hide the truth from me ? " she said,
reproachfully, feeling sore at their betrayal of her.
" Well, yes, he loves her, and may marry her for all I
care," she said a moment afterwards ; but the tears con-
tinued all the same to flow, and she felt a bitter pain in
her heart.

Time passed. Tanja began to long for her sister to
come and look for her. She was angry with her for
not coming.

" They don't trouble about me — no, not if I lay here
and die ! Ah, if I could only die ! "

And she felt all of a sudden so unspeakably sinful,
that the tears ran over her face.

" What were they doing now ? How happy they
must be ! " she thought ; and with this thought she
suddenly longed to jump in on them, and to fling their
treachery in their faces. She jumped out of bed and

358 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

fumbled about with her hands, which trembled with
emotion, to find a match in order to light a candle and
dress. She could not find a match, and as she had thrown
her clothes all over the place, she could not find them
in the dark. She was ashamed to call the servant. So
she threw herself on the bed, and broke out sobbing,
finding herself helpless and hopeless.

The first tears of an organism unaccustomed to
suffering are soon dried. The hasty attack of despair
was followed by a dull numbness.

Not a sound from the reception-room penetrated
Tanja's room; but from the neighbouring kitchen Tanja
heard how the servants were getting ready to eat their
evening meal. There was a clatter of knives and
plates, and the servants laughing and talking. All
were happy, all were merry, only she was alone. . . .

At last, after a perfect eternity, as it seemed to
Tanja, she heard a hasty ringing. It was her mother
and aunts returning from dinner. She heard the ser-
vant's heavy step, as he ran to open the door ; after-
wards there were the sounds of high-pitched, merry
voices, as usual on a return from a party.

" Dostojevsky has not gone yet. Will Anyuta tell
mother to-night of what has happened, or will she wait
till to-morrow ? " wondered Tanja. Now she dis-
tinguished his voice among the others. He took
leave — had hastened off; Tanja's strained ears could
even hear him pulling on his galoshes. Then the
vestibule door shut, and shortly after Anyuta's elastic
step was heard in the corridor. She opened the door,
and a bright ray of light fell right on Tanja's face.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 359

To her tear-swollen eyes the light seemed like an
insult, and was unbearably strong. A feeling of uncon-
trollable enmity rose in her throat against her sister.

<f The horror ! she is triumphant," she thought
bitterly, and, turning towards the wall, pretended to
sleep.

Without making any haste Anyuta put down the
light on the table, and went up to her sister's bed,
where she stood for a moment silent. Tanja lay im-
movable, holding back her breath.

" I see you are not sleeping," at last exclaimed
Anyuta.

Tanja remained silent.

" Well, if you like to play at pretending — all right.
All the worse for you. You sha'n't hear anything,"
exclaimed the elder sister, and began to undress herself
as though nothing had happened.

That night Tanja had a wonderful dream. Often in
later life when she had had great sorrow, she had at
night such delicious, lovely dreams. But how painful it
is to rouse oneself from them. The dream pictures have
not quite vanished. Some hours of heavy sleep has
chased the weariness of the previous day's heavy sor-
row, and only left behind a pleasant bodily weariness ;
a feeling of physical comfort and of restored peace.
Suddenly beat, beat, as of a hammer in the brain, comes
the memory of the terrible, irrevocable events which
happened yesterday, and one becomes painfully conscious
that one must go back to life and suffering.

Life is so sad here, and all kinds of sufferings are so
hard to bear. How heavy are those first paroxysms of

360 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

despair when the whole being revolts against sorrow
without giving way, though as yet it cannot com-
prehend the whole depth of its loss. Even heavier are
the long days which follow, when the tears are shed
and the stirred feelings laid, and when one can no
longer knock one's head against a wall, but realises at
last how inward sorrow, however slowly and unnoticed
by others, lays everything low in dust and ruins.

But heaviest and worst of all burdens and difficulties
is the first awakening to sad reality after a short period
of unconsciousness. Tanja spent the next day in
feverish expectation.

" What would happen ? " She asked her sister no
question ; she felt, though in a less degree inimical
towards her, as she had felt on the previous evening,
and avoided her on every pretext. Seeing Tanja so
miserable, Anyuta tried to go and pet her, but Tanja
shook her off in an access of rage. Anyuta was
naturally hurt, and left Tanja to her own sorrowful
reflections. Tanja expected so confidently that Dosto-
jevsky would come that day, and that something
terrible would happen ; but no Dostojevsky appeared.
They sat down to dinner, and he did not show himself
even then. Tanja knew they would go to the concert
in the evening.

Some time passed and he did not come. Her
heart grew light, and a faint, undefined hope lit up her
heart. Suddenly it struck her, " Of course Anyuta will
refuse to go to the concert, and will stay at home, and
Dostojevsky will come to her while she is alone."

Her heart contracted with jealousy at the thought.

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 361

But Anyuta did not refuse the concert, but was gay
and talkative the whole evening.

When both the sisters were going to bed, and
Anyuta was just ready to put out the light, Tanja
could no longer bear it, but looked at her sister
questioningly.

" When do you expect Fedor Dostojevsky ? "

Anyuta smiled. " You seemed not to want to know.
You would not talk to me, and behaved very badly."

Her tone was so soft and kindly that Tanja thawed,
and began secretly to love her.

" How can he help being in love with her, when she
is so charming and I such a miserable wretch ? " she
thought, in a sudden bout of self-depreciation.

She crept over into her sister's bed, nestled up to her,
and burst out weeping.

Anyuta patted her head. " Be quiet, you simpleton !
Such a simple little girl ! " she repeated, petting her.
Suddenly she could control herself no longer, and broke
out in an almost uncontrollable laugh. " So then she
fancied she must fall in love, and with whom ? — a man
three times as old as she is ! "

These words and that laugh woke in Tanja a mad-
ness which filled all her being.

" And you do not love him ? " she asked, whispering,
and burning with excitement.

Anyuta pondered a moment. <c You see," she began,
evidently making an effort and trying to choose her
words, " I, of course, am naturally very fond of him,
and respect him very highly. He is so good, so
original, so inspired ! " — she warmed up in her expres-

362 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

sions. Tanja's heart grew sick. " But how shall I
explain it ? I love him, but not as he — that is to say,
I don't Jove him as 1 would love the man I would
marry," and she stopped suddenly.

Oh, how bright Tanja's spirit became ! She turned
over to her sister and kissed her neck and hands.
Anyuta, however, went on :

" Do you see, I was rather surprised when I found I
did not care for him. He is so good and noble, I
thought at first I should really fall in love with him.
But I am not at all the wife he wants. His wife must
belong to him out and out, devote herself absolutely to
him, give her whole life up to him, think of him and
him only. But that I cannot do. I must be true to
myself. Besides, he is so sensitive, so exigeant. He
seems to take me prisoner, and to absorb me into
himself. In his presence I am never myself."

Anyuta said all this, apparently in response to her
sister, but really to clear the matter in her own mind.
Tanja appeared as though she understood and sym-
pathised with her, but she thought to herself :

" Oh, God ! What bliss it would be to be thus
always with him, and entirely subordinate to him !
How can Anyuta turn away from such happiness ? "

However, Tanja, when she fell asleep that night,
somehow or other felt far less miserable than on the
preceding evening.

The day of the Rajevskys' departure was now near
at hand. Dostojevsky came once again to say farewell.
He did not stay long, but his behaviour to Anyuta was
kindly and natural, and they promised to write to each

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 363

other. He took a very tender farewell of Tanja, kissed
her at parting, but certainly had not the remotest idea
of what kind of feeling she had for him, or how much
suffering he had caused her.

Some six months later Anyuta received a letter from
him, in which he told her he had met a charming young
girl whom he loved, and who had promised to marry
him. This young girl was Anna Grigorjevna, his
second wife. " If any one had told me this six months
ago, I would have given my word of honour that I did
not believe him," remarked Dostojevsky naively at the
end of his letter.

Tanja's heart-sore soon healed. During the few
days they still remained at St. Petersburg she still felt
miserable, and went about more sadly and more quietly
than usual. But the journey removed the last trace of
the past from her mind.

It was April when the Rajevskys left, and in St.
Petersburg it was still winter, cold and shivering. But
in the Vitebsk government they unexpectedly met
spring — the Russian irresistible spring, which comes
suddenly in one night and draws almost everything to
it, and, like an attack of fever, affects earth and man
and beast. Birches on the roadside were clad in a
thick green down ; the air was oppressive with resinous
odours from the young leaf-buds, so that Anyuta and
Tanja were giddy and intoxicated with it. They
jumped out of the carriage at every station, and
gathered, in the quarter of an hour's rest, handfuls of
snowdrops, spring hyacinths, and violets, which grew,
as it were, before their eves out of the earth. Brooks

364 THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY.

and streams overflowed their beds and formed great
lakes, the earth thawed and the mud was bottomless.

On the great highway it did not matter ; but when
they got to the town they had to leave the big travel-
ling carriage at the post station, and hire a pair of
miserable little vehicles instead.

Madame Rajevsky and the coachman lamented over
it in great anxiety. " However shall we get there ? "
Madame Rajevsky was really afraid of having vexed
her husband, by having remained so long in St. Peters-
burg. However, notwithstanding all lamentations and
sighs, all went well.

Tanja often remembered that journey afterwards,
how late one night they went through the great forest.
Neither she nor her sister slept ; they sat silent, living
through in thought again all the different impressions
of the last three months, and enjoyed inhaling the soft
spring scents which filled the air.

It got darker and darker. On account of the bad
roads they drove slowly. The postboy tried to sleep
on the coach-box, and no longer called to his animals.
Nothing was to be heard but the splashing of the
horses' hoofs in the mud, and faint, uneven sounds of
the horses' bells. The wood spread out on both sides
— dark, mysterious, and impenetrable. Suddenly, as
they came out into an open space, the moon shone from
behind the trees and gilded everything with a shimmer-
ing glory so clear and surprising that one felt almost
awestruck.

After the last conversation in St. Petersburg both
sisters had avoided speaking of the subject, and there

THE SISTERS RAJEVSKY. 365

was a kind of reticence between them as though there
was something constantly dividing them.

But now there was a sort of silent reconciliation
between the two, and they embraced each other
lovingly. Both felt that nothing really divided them,
but that they were both dearer to each other than ever.

They were returning to Palibino, where the grey
monotonous life awaited them, but in this moment they
knew that this could not last long, but that soon a
change must come into their lives. It appeared to
them as if a corner of the curtain which hid the future
was lifted for them, and they had a vivid impression of
something new, great, and unexpected awaiting them.
A feeling of boundless, inexplicable gladness seized
them. Ah !

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.'

BY LILY WOLFFSOHN.

THE life of a woman by a woman," might be the sub-
title of the book now presented for the first time to the
British public ; and the adjectives "eminent and remarkable"
might with justice be added to both nouns.

For Anna Carlotta Leffler, the author of " Sonya Kovalev-
sky," was no less gifted than the subject of the biography, and
it is for this reason that, by way of introduction, we here give
a sketch of her life founded on the following works : an
inedited autobiography, kindly lent by the Duke of Cajanello,
her second husband ; a biography in the Swedish language, by
Ellen Key, published by A. Bonnier, Stockholm ; an article in
the Vie Contemporaine, entitled " Femmes du Nord," by Count
Prozor ; a biography, by Gegjerstam, in "Ord 6 Bild"j a
biographical article by the Duchess of Andria.

Anna Carlotta was the only daughter of J. A. Leffler, a
Swedish rector, and was born on October i, 1849. From
her mother, the daughter of a minister named Mittag, she
inherited the literary tendencies which showed themselves so

1 Since this biographical note was written, we have become
acquainted with a biography of Anna Carlotta Leffler written
by Madame Laura Marholm in her " Buch der Frauen," which
contains many erroneous facts and data, and judgments which
prove that the writer has never really known Anna Carlotta
Leffler, but has gathered her information from incorrect sources.

367

368 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.

early, that, when only six years old, she dictated a little tale to
her brother Fritz, which the lad wrote down.

The little girl grew up in an atmosphere of tender affection,
equally beloved by her parents and by her three brothers :
Gosta Mittag-Leffler, who afterwards became an eminent
mathematical professor in his own country, and also obtained
a doctor's degree at Oxford ; Arthur, who became an architect,
and Fritz.

The latter was nearest to her in age, was her constant
playfellow, in whose company she enjoyed summer trips to
Foglelos on the Vettern lake, which were repeated yearly up
to 1858, and looked forward to by the children, during the
long winters spent in Stockholm, with longing and delight.

During these sojourns in the beautiful scenery of Vettern
Lake, Anna Carlotta imbibed the love of Sweden, its lakes
and mountains, which remained true and strong even when she
was transplanted to the fairer regions of the South.

Her intimate companionship with her brothers, and participa-
tion in their studies, were of great influence on Anna Carlotta's
character. She became a frank intrepid girl, free from all
feminine caprice, capable of simple, loyal friendship, looking at
life with a wider charity.

As a young girl, she was of a placid and amiable disposition,
and became a favourite with all the pupils of the Wallinska
school which she attended for some years. Her masters
praised her for several compositions in Swedish, but offended
her by hinting that her brothers must have helped her. Even
during her school years she indulged in writing fiction, and
the strong religious impression she received at her confirmation
found expression in a never-published romance, which she was
busy writing from her fifteenth to her seventeenth year.

Very wisely her brothers would not allow her to publish her
first attempts ; they rather encouraged her to study earnestly
the language, history, and literature of her native land, and
thus saved her from the peril of dilettantism. But both they

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 369

and her parents never denied her that admiring sympathy
which is so welcome to all young writers.

In autumn 1869, under the pseudonym of "Carlot," she
published a collection of tales entitled " By Chance," which
were well received by the public. In 1872 she married, under
peculiar circumstances, Mr. G. Edgren, with whom she lived
like an affectionate and tenderly-loved sister. She reserved full
liberty to dedicate herself to a literary life, but never neglected
the duties of the mistress of a household.

The excellent financial conditions in which she lived, and
the high position she held, not only enabled her to pursue the
vocation to which she felt herself called, but also gave her
abundant opportunity of frequenting society, without, however,
wasting her strength on mere frivolities.

She grew in experience, her imagination became more
fecund, and her literary development made great progress.
Yet some deeper aspirations of her soul remained unsatisfied,
and the traces of this want may be found in the thirst for
independence, for a personal life freer from conventionality,
depicted in her drama "The Actress," and in "Elfvan," now
that their true authorship is known. But at the time of their
appearance this of course was unnoticed except by her intimate
friends.

"The Actress" was represented on the stage in 1873;
"Henpecked" and " The Curate" in 1876; "Elfvan" in
1880.

"The Actress," though it was played at the Stockholm
Theatre during a whole winter, was never suspected to be
the work of a woman, and no one would have believed it
possible that a girl only twenty-three years of age, who had
never been in a theatre above two or three times in her life,
could have produced such a drama. Her parents, during their
daughter's early youth, considered theatre-going a luxury, and
her own religious convictions forbade her to indulge in such
a pleasure often.

25

370 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.

In this first work Anna Carlotta expressed the idea which
dominated her life ; an idea set forth by her long before Ibsen
wrote " The Doll's House " ; it was that love, in a woman, must
be subordinated to duty, not in the limited sense of conjugal
duty, but in the wide sense of duty to oneself and to mankind.

Contemporaneously with her dramatic works, the young
author wrote short stories, descriptions of travel, essays, &c4 ;
principally for the New Illustrated Journal^ of Stockholm.

Her works had already excited attention when, in 1882, she
first published a collection of tales under her own name. The
book was entitled " From Life " (a title that was added to all
her later works), and made an immense impression.

At one stroke Anna Carlotta Leffler acquired an eminent
place in northern literature, due, no doubt, partly to the fact
that she had never habituated the public to associate her name
with the immature literary attempts of a beginner.

By translation into Danish, Russian, German, and other
languages, her name became famous abroad as one of the best
Swedish writers of the time. Many of her dramas were
represented on different northern stages, and even in Germany.

Not long ago, her comedy " A Charity Fair," was translated
into Italian. Benedetto Croce, a distinguished Neapolitan
critic, wrote an introduction to this publication. It is owing
to the purely Swedish character of her first works> that the
social life of Sweden began to excite interest in Europe.

In 1883 the second volume of "From Life" was published.
It was written in a freer manner, with fine sarcasm, and
greater knowledge, but the public cried out against the
tendency of some of the stories. "At Strife with Society,"
and " Aurora Bunge," the two most full of genius, were called
" scandalous."

But the adverse critics laid down their arms on the appear-
ance of the novel " Gustav the Pastor," which was rich in true
Swedish humour.

Anna Carlotta possessed a very sensitive literary conscience,

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 371

and if she sometimes disobeyed its behests, it was only out of con-
sideration for her family, who were wounded by the criticism
to which she was exposed. But when she felt that the criticism
was just, she was always modestly willing to revise her work.

Gradually the young author grew more courageous in
representing real life, and began to touch on the problems of
modern life.

But she never sympathised with " party," nor became the
centre of a fanatic literary circle such as she has been falsely
represented to have been. As her literary works became more
important, and her fame increased, criticism grew more
virulent, and even among her greatest admirers discussion arose
as to her real meaning. Some said that her entire personality
was to be found in her writings, while the fact is, that those
produced later, and the change in her own being, have shown
the error of this opinion. Others, and they were the most
numerous, saw in all her novels and romances nothing but a
struggle for the emancipation of woman, thus trying to limit
within the narrow sphere of a single aim the large and liberal
ideas of a writer, who, though displaying quite a special in-
dividuality, was thoroughly objective.

The most common opinion was indeed that Anna Carlotta
Leffler fought for the emancipation of woman with more
courage and energy than any other writer, and this opinion
was confirmed by the fact that around her gathered all the
pioneers of the new school, all the most illustrious champions
of the woman question, and precisely at that epoch the
emancipation of woman was passionately discussed in Sweden.
Anna Carlotta's house was the rendezvous for all the adherents
of the new literature, who rendered her homage, not only and
not so much as a writer, but principally as a woman who had
raised her voice, and obtained a hearing among the most
famous men in Sweden. She was certainly impelled towards
the promulgators of the rights of woman by her lively sympathy
with the cause in its moral and social aspects, but she kept

372 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.

herself free from any party spirit, and her literary sphere
belonged to a larger and more serene field of thought.

But there was another thing that seemed to prove those to
be right who, at all costs, sought to imprison Anna Carlotta
within the strict limits of the woman question, and this was
her manner of regarding and understanding love in the abstract,
a manner to which she was led by all the woman movement.

Love, at this time, seemed to her only an episode of life, not
life's essence, or, so to speak, the life of life. Her works seemed
to be wanting in something indefinable, and this something
was the intimate and complete conception of the sentiment
only obtained by the absolute abandonment of the soul to love.
In the story " Doubt," and another one, " At Strife with
Society," very much is said, and well said, about love ; but love
itself is only seen by glimpses, as if the author deliberately
wanted to deny to her own soul the knowledge of an invading
power that she almost feared. And, in fact, it was only later
in life that she possessed the entire and perfect knowledge of
the power of love.

The famous representatives of Northern literature, who met
at Anna Carlotta's house to discuss all things under the sun,
were put at their ease by the sympathising amiability of their
hostess, who gave the impress of her personality to the con-
versation, yet was as ready to listen as to speak. She often
displayed, however, a coldness and pride of manner due to a
shyness which she never entirely overcame, but these soon
vanished on more intimate acquaintance.

In 1884 the young writer began to travel, taking with her
a dear friend, Julia Kjellberg, now Madame von Vollmar.
She obtained many introductions to different circles in foreign
lands, partly through Madame Sonya Kovalevsky, who had
come to Stockholm in 1883, and with whom she had become
most intimate.

Thus Anna Carlotta became acquainted, especially in
England, with some of the most noted personages, and
acquired new ideas.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 373

The new impulse given to her literary talent is shown in
her description of travel in " From Modern London " ; in
the above-mentioned drama, " A Charity Fair," and in " True
Women," published in English by S. French, London.

This drama, which seemed to have been written in favour
of the emancipation of married women, was really the out-
come of the author's pity for the domestic troubles of one very
dear to her. After its publication many regarded her as a
despiser of men, an amazon thirsting for battle ; but they would
have become aware of their mistake had they seen the tears in
the author's eyes when she received the thanks of her friend
for her expressions of noble indignation, a feeling which was a
force in her writings, and was not the cold indignation proper
to persons who only regard fictitious life from within their
four walls, but the warm resentment against the wrongs of
actual sufferers.

In 1866 our author published a romance entitled "A
Summer Story," which has quite lately been translated and
published in German, and which, more than any other of her
productions, contains the personal feelings of the writer.

In this tale love already begins to appear as an actual force
in human existence, as a thing that has tyrannous rights able
to balance all other intellectual exigencies. Here still these
intellectual exigencies triumph, and love is enslaved, but in all
the life of "Ulla,"the heroine of the romance, there is a lament
and homesickness for the very love which she would conquer
and trample upon, but which destroys the balance of her
existence, and condemns her to a continual and sterile struggle

* OO

between her old self and the new spirit born within her,
because the latter is not so fully incorporated with love as to
give it the victory over the former state of feeling. This
story shows that a woman who sacrifices love to personal
dignity — a sacrifice of which the writer nevertheless approves
— can never be happy.

In the biography of Sonya Kovalevsky, now before the

374 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.

reader, Anna Carlotta Leffler relates the circumstances of her
intimacy with that gifted woman, and therefore we need not
touch on the subject here.

At the beginning of 1888 she went to Africa with her
brother, Professor Mittag-Leffler, and his wife, Signe, to attend
the Mathematical Congress in Algiers. During this journey,
while returning through Italy, she met, for the first time, with
a mathematician, professor at the Naples University, who had
long been in correspondence with her brother.

This was Signor Pasquale del Pezzo, the Duke of Cajanello.
Their acquaintance ripened into a true and tender love, which,
after the divorce of Anna Carlotta, and the overcoming of
many difficulties made by the Duke's family, who objected to
his future wife as a Protestant, was finally crowned by a happy
marriage, which was celebrated in Rome, in May, 1890.

Previously to this, in 1889, Anna Carlotta published a new
collection of tales also under the common title of " From Life."

The Duke and Duchess of Cajanello, after their marriage,
spent a large portion of the year at Djursholm, near Stockholm.

The now happy woman shortly published a romance,
" Womanliness and Erotics," inspired by the new sentiments
and sensations which crowded upon her, and also a comedy
called " This Love ! "

This romance was much talked of, and was criticised with
more than usual acrimony. The author herself considered
it the most complete and vivid manifestation of her own
personality. The first part had been written seven years
previously, and, at one point of the heroine's destiny, there
arose a question to which the writer at that time knew no
answer. She felt that there was missing the real explanation
of all the psychological evolutions in her heroine ; that " Alie "
was awaiting the full development of her personality from
the love that must finally awaken and subjugate her. But
how, and under what circumstances would Alie love ? she " who
was so much convinced that the reality could never afford her

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. '375

anything but delusions, that she shrank back from all oppor-
tunities of executing what she had dreamed of."

The author herself did not yet know ; but then came that
crisis in her own life which rejuvenised and transformed
her, giving her the power to reply to the question that had
arisen in the life of her heroine. Alie loves, because Anna
Carlotta at last understood what love was — the love that rids
life of all disharmony and all hesitation, and, from the perfect
balance and fusion of the feelings, evolves the still intact but
renovated and completed individual. " Womanliness and
Erotics" indeed reveals the bliss derived by its author from
an affection for the first time felt and requited.

After this, the Duchess wrote a drama in three acts, entitled
" Domestic Happiness " ; some character sketches ; and a
fantastic dramatic poem, "The Search after Truth," which,
under the influence of the rich Southern imagination of her
husband, displays a force of artistic representation not found in
her early productions.

When Sonya Kovalevsky died in 1891, Anna Carlotta for-
sook all other work in order to write the biography of her
friend. It was her own last work, and was generally con-
sidered to be one of the most exact and perfect psychological
studies to be found in contemporary literature, and, at the same
time, a delightful and genial work of art.

The newly married Duchess of Cajanello felt quite at home
in Italy, and was never afflicted by homesickness. She was
already perfectly acquainted with the Italian language, and
surrounded herself with a select circle of scientific and literary
men, old and new friends of her husband.

One of those who frequented the Duke's house in Naples,
describes it as full of sunshine and happiness. The Duchess,
tall and fair, had the charm of simple dignity, and at the same
time the grace of cordiality. The Duke, on the other hand,
had the ease and unconventionality of manner proper to a man
of science, and one who had broken with the prejudices of his
aristocratic class.

376 BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.

Much as Anna Carlotta had been beloved by her early friends
in Sweden, she was now even more attractive in her new-found
happiness.

The bliss of the husband and wife was completed by the
birth of a son in June, 1892, and the letters written by the
young mother during the summer of that year are proof that
she had attained a height of human felicity which almost made
her tremble. And indeed the last years of her life were a
luminous progress to ever intenser joys. First the expectation
of maternity, then maternity itself, beautified and consecrated
by the love which shone forth in her eyes and her smile ; by
the complete happiness that caused her mature nature to bud
and blossom anew, as if it had never before enjoyed a spring-
time. With the cradle of her child close beside her, she wrote
with ever-increasing delight, interrupting herself every now
and then to attend to her infant, and again resuming her
work without the least impatience. There also stood one
who awaited the result of her work with intense sympathy,
ready to hear her read the freshly written pages, which she
communicated with the calmness induced by the certainty of
being comprehended. She had trembled at all this happiness,
and she was snatched away just as she had tasted its full sweetness.

She had been in vlllegglatura on the island of Capri, had
returned home and set her house in order for the winter, and
was preparing for a long period of peace and quiet, during
which she would devote herself to literature, and commence
a new romance which she was meditating, to be entitled
" Narrow Horizons."

For the first time for many years she felt at perfect rest
within and without, enriched by new experiences, viewing the
things of life with clearer eyes, and able, as she remarked to a
friend, " to write a great book on a broad basis."

On Sunday, the i6th of October, she wrote a happy letter
to her mother and brother, expressing her delight in her work,
her hope for continued good health.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE. 377

The very next day her husband was forced to insist on her
giving up all work ; on laying down her pen in the middle of
a sentence in order to nurse herself, for she had confessed to a
rapidly increasing indisposition. In vain she exclaimed, " Oh,
no ! I have still so much to write ! " She was obliged to yield
to her husband's entreaties, and laid down her pen — never to
take it up again. That pen had just corrected the last proofs
of " Sonya Kovalevsky."

Anna Carlotta had been seized with acute peritonitis, and,
in spite of all efforts on the part of physicians, and the most
tender nursing, succumbed to the terrible malady five days
later, on the 2ist of October, 1893, at the age of only forty-
one years.

Anna Carlotta Leffler, Duchess of Cajanello, was more than
a distinguished writer. She was a woman void of vanity and
pretence, utterly sincere ; strong, but not violent ; possessed
of great moral courage ; of a calm, cheerful, sanguine dis-
position ; of perfect sanity of mind and body ; regarding the
problems of human life in such a simple manner as excited the
admiration of her friends. She knew nothing of the hysterics
and vagaries of the "new woman," and, more than all else,
she possessed a thoroughly kind heart, and was so sweet and
loving that those who knew her well forgot the genius in the
perfect woman. Her ideal of happiness in this world had been
realised. She had arrived at the summit of her desires —
husband, child, a happy home, a true sphere of work — and
ceased to be.

LILY WOLFFSOHN.

26

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